


Fractured Illusions

by Guanin



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Ethari, Asexual Runaan, At the same time, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Gren, Polyamory, Sensuality, Slow Burn, viren is the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28296177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: The human was singing. He was chained in this dungeon, same as Runaan, and yet he had the indecency to sing as if he were at the fair. Runaan had been quiet so far. Patiently waiting for death. There was no need to ever interact with the human, no matter how annoying his incomprehensible cheerfulness was. But everyone reached a breaking point.In which Runaan learns that humans aren't all bad, Gren is too good-hearted to leave Runaan languishing in prison, and two elves and a human have to reckon with past wrongs while falling in love someone they would never have expected.
Relationships: Ethari/Gren/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

The human was singing. He was chained in this dungeon, same as Runaan, and yet he had the indecency to sing as if he were at the fair. It was some silly human ditty about a cow and two geese, a children’s lullaby, no doubt, unless adult humans were interested in such ridiculous excuses for a song. Runaan gritted his teeth, both against the pain radiating up his arm and that insufferable caterwauling. He had been quiet so far. Patiently waiting for death. There was no need to ever interact with the human, no matter how annoying his incomprehensible cheerfulness was. But everyone reached a breaking point. Between the band constricting his bicep, the ache shooting down his back from being chained with his arms up for days, and the hunger growling in his stomach, human singing was one agony too much.

“Stop that!” he growled.

The human instantly shut up. Runaan sighed in relief. Merciful silence. Finally. 

“Excuse me?” the human asked, offense dripping in his voice. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

“Yes. Now do it.”

“I don’t take orders from an elf, especially not the scum that killed my king.”

Runaan huffed. He didn’t reply. Why would he want to encourage him? But the human started singing again, this time belting it out so his voice echoed off the walls. Runaan groaned, biting his lip so it wouldn’t rise above a murmur. Of all the insufferable…

“Would you stop doing that! Why are you even singing in a dungeon? Just. Shut. Up.”

“I. Will. Not. And I’m singing because I’m not going to mope just because I’m stuck here. This is a temporary situation. The general will find out I’m here and get me out. Unlike you, who will die in here.”

Runaan’s eyes fell shut. Ethari’s beseeching face by the lotus pond flashed in his mind. 

_My heart goes out with this one_ , he’d said as he handed Runaan the enchanted flower, eyes shiny with unshed tears and dread that this would be the last time he saw his husband. 

_Forgive me, Ethari._

“Your king killed the king of the dragons,” Runaan said. “His death was justice.”

“It was murder, assassin.”

Runaan had heard his vocation spit out at him in such a disgusted tone many times before, as if hearing it aloud would insult him. He knew what he was. He had chosen this life. He did what had to be done, no more or less. 

“So was the dragon king’s death.”

“So you taking vengeance for his death is justice, but King Harrow taking vengeance for Queen Sarai is murder?”

“Your queen wouldn’t have died if she and the rest of you hadn’t invaded Xadia to kill a magma titan.”

The human was silent.

“No defense, human? You can’t talk your way out of that being murder.”

“I didn’t agree with that incursion,” the human said grudgingly. “Neither did the queen, from what I heard.”

“Then she shouldn’t have gone.”

Silence fell. Runaan exhaled a long, weary breath, then winced as he inadvertently shifted, rattling his encased arm. The band was a firm vice around his limb, digging deep into his flesh, turning his skin purple all the way up to his hand. It pulsed with pain every moment he was awake, often waking him when he managed to slumber. Rayla was suffering the same fate, except that she would only lose her hand, not her entire arm. Unless she did her job and killed Prince Ezran. 

The dragon prince lived. There was no doubt about whose egg the boy was holding. Ezran’s death was decreed in exchange for that of the dragon prince. With the human prince alive…

It didn’t matter. When an assassin was assigned a task, they fulfilled it. Unless their orders changed, but the dragon queen was too far away to consult. 

But it was a life for a life. King Harrow for King Avizandum. Prince Ezran for Prince Azymondias. 

Who would probably arrive safely in Xadia. 

Runaan should have listened to Ethari. Rayla lacked the conviction that was necessary to kill. Her talent was of another sort. He’d turned over their last encounter in his mind dozens of times while stuck in this cell, remorse clawing at him every time. He would never have killed her. Of course not. That had been an idle threat. He’d just wanted to convince her to stand down. 

Rayla was right. With the dragon prince alive, Ezran’s death wouldn’t be justice. It’d be murder. And she’d lose her hand for it. 

“What did you expect would happen, will happen, after you killed King Harrow?”

The human’s voice startled him. Weren’t they done? What was the point in conversing further?

“Politics are not my concern,” Runaan said.

“Oh, no. Of course not. Killing a king and kidnapping his children isn’t political at all.”

Kidnapping?

“I didn’t kidnap anyone.”

“Your subordinate did. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

Of course that’s what they’d think had happened. 

“She didn’t kidnap them. They went with her of their own free will.”

“Like hell. Why would they do that?”

Runaan was silent. If this human didn’t know that the dragon prince was alive, Runaan wasn’t about to give away the secret. He shifted from kneeling to sitting, stretching out his legs, every joint protesting the long enforced position. The motion jarred his arm, stabbing him with a flare of sharp pain. He bit his lip, swallowing his wince. He wasn’t going to give the human the satisfaction. The silence stretched on with nothing but Runaan’s thready, panting breaths to mark it, but Runaan didn’t hold out hope that the human would grant him the mercy of not pestering him further. 

“Even if they weren’t kidnapped,” the human said. Runaan groaned. “Why would they? They must have had a good reason. You know why. If you know they went willingly, then you know why. Tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“It can’t have been part of your murder plot. It doesn’t make sense. Did she go rouge, your subordinate? I saw her. She’s young, too young to be an assassin, I’d think. Was this her first mission? Did she decide that murder isn’t her thing, after all?”

Runaan stayed silent.

“I knew there was something weird about it,” the human continued. “The princes didn’t seem scared of her. Prince Callum told us that she was a monster, but maybe it was for show. They had plenty of chances to run away from her, but they didn’t. When we cornered them, it looked like they were running with her and not by force. And the way that Prince Callum shouted ‘heavily armed human troops’ when we got to the lodge. He must have been warning her.”

The human seemed to be speaking to himself now. So they had gone to a lodge, had they? Likely owned by the king. Why would Rayla take them there? She should have known that they would be found. And the humans were protecting her? Why? Why hadn’t they betrayed her yet? They were bound to do so sooner or later. Rayla’s delusions about peace with humans were just that. Delusions. Humans were all deceitful, untrustworthy. The princes were no different just because they were children. Rayla had walked into their trap and there was nothing that Runaan could do about it. 

“And they were so cagy. I thought they were just upset by the whole situation. And they were there alone. They should have never been there alone. But they weren’t alone, were they? They’re smart kids. They may have figured out why they were sent away from the castle so suddenly. And the Banther Lodge is, after all, the winter lodge. Which is why this makes even less sense. Look, I know you know, so spill it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have no reason to tell you anything.”

“You murdered their father. The least you can do is tell me why they felt compelled to flee their home, and why one of your people is helping them. Is it to keep them away from you?”

Runaan dropped his head against the wall. Protecting humans. How had Rayla’s judgment grown so flawed? Hadn’t he taught her better than this? Her turning her blades against him to cover their escape had wounded him deeper than she would ever know. How could she possibly have seen him as the enemy instead of them? 

“You clearly don’t agree with them running off together,” the human continued. “So I’m going to take that as a yes. Well, I have no idea what her motivations are for not hurting the princes, but I’m glad she kept them safe from you, at least.”

Runaan wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. The human stayed quiet this time. Small mercy. 

It didn’t last. Of course not. Why had Runaan bothered hoping that it would?

“I’m Gren, by the way. I don’t like talking to someone without introducing myself, even if they did just kill my king.”

“If you’re so disgusted by my existence, why are you talking to me at all?

“I’m not disgusted by your existence, just what you did. I don’t hate elves on principle. I’m not like that.”

“Aren’t all humans like that?”

“So you hate all humans just because?”

“I don’t hate you. You’re not worth the energy. I don’t trust you. You take what doesn’t belong to you and pretend to be entitled to it.”

“Are you referring to dark magic? You think we all do that?”

“It doesn’t matter. One human practicing that disgusting craft is too much, and your king employed two of them. Every human kingdom does. It doesn’t matter if you don’t practice it yourself. You aid and abet it.”

“It’s not like I have a say in who the king hires.”

“But you benefit from it. Did you reject the fruits that resulted from the heart of the magma titan your leaders murdered?”

The human paused.

“Yeah.”

His voice was low, unwilling to admit the depth of his complicity too loudly. He might even have sounded ashamed if humans were capable of the feeling.

“It doesn’t matter if you agreed with the killing or not. You’re still complicit.”

The human didn’t reply for a long time.

```````````````

“I’m sorry.”

The words roused Runaan from his slumber, his instincts alerting him to any voice in his vicinity even while asleep. He sounded out the words in his mind, frowning at what he thought he’d heard. Had the human just apologized? To who? 

“Are you awake?” the human asked, raising his voice.

Was he apologizing to Runaan? He couldn’t be. That didn’t make sense. 

The human sighed.

“I guess you’re asleep then,” he mumbled, barely audible.

Was he apologizing to Runaan? Was this a joke? 

“What are you doing?” Runaan asked. 

Chains jangled. He must have startled him.

“What do you mean? I’m apologizing.”

“Why? If you’re trying to lure me into a false sense of security by being nice, it won’t work.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“There’s no other reason for you to apologize to me.”

“You said I did. That I’m complicit in the killing of the titan by benefiting from it.”

“I didn’t ask you to apologize. I don’t need your guilt, even if it were genuine.”

“It is genuine. Look, I’m just trying to…” The human muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. “Let me start over. I’m sorry about what happened with the giant.”

“His murder.”

“Yes, his murder. Invading Xadia was not okay. I guess, when you really think about it, we are the ones who started this series of retaliations.”

“You’re only just realizing that now? Typical.”

“I’m still angry that you killed the king.”

“I don’t care.”

“What I’m trying to say is, continuing to kill each other over it isn’t going to get us anywhere. Lord Viren is trying to declare war against Xadia. I think he’s trying to bring in the rest of the Pentarchy in on it. So even more people will die. But it’s not just on us. The sunfire elves have been trying to infiltrate Katolis for months.”

“What the sunfire elves do has nothing to do with moonshadow elves.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that. And yet, everything is connected. Are we really going to go to war over a blood feud?”

“Like you said, the humans started it. Mock apologies won’t change that.”

“It’s not… God, you’re harder to talk to than Viren. I mean it. I really am sorry. You know what, I think, maybe… I can’t be sure obviously, but I think that the princes and your subordinate may have decided to break the vicious cycle and make peace. They were headed toward Xadia. Maybe they’re going to see the dragon queen and try to fix things. I know Prince Callum doesn’t understand why we’re fighting each other. At least he said something like that once. I can’t think of any other reason why he and Prince Ezran… Wait, no, it’s King Ezran now. Anyway, I can’t think of why else they would go with an elf. This was her first mission, wasn’t it?”

Runaan sighed, his eyes slipping shut with bone deep weariness. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, making him dizzy and disoriented, lowering his guard. That was the only reason why he deigned to answer.

“Yes.”

“Aha! So, she couldn’t go through with it, realized that killing people for the sake of a blood vendetta is wrong, met the princes somehow, and they decided to try to make peace. That must be it. Although, it’s not that simple.” The human’s, Gren’s, voice dipped in frustration. “Everything seemed so much easier when we were kids, didn’t it? I miss being that age.”

Runaan rested his head against his right arm, riding out the nausea in his empty stomach by breathing slowly. What a strange human. He was right, though. Rayla wanted peace. If the human princes weren’t lying, they wanted it too, but it didn’t make sense. When had humans ever wanted peace with elves? 

“Do you think I’m right?” Gren asked. “Could that be it?”

“Maybe.”

“Awesome. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Runaan huffed a laugh.

“You actually think that would work?”

“Probably not. But at least they’re doing something good, and it sounds like they’re not in danger, which is a load off.”

Great. The human was reassured. Could he please be quiet now? 

“So what’s your name?” Gren asked.

Runaan didn’t reply.

“Okay, then,” Gren said. “You’re not comfortable giving me your name yet. I get it. Maybe later.”

Absolutely not. 

``````````````

The mage drew his blood. Not enough to debilitate Runaan any more than he already was, but letting this vicious man use so much as a single drop for his foul practice made Runaan’s stomach churn with disgust. Viren’s words were condescending, eyes sneering, and his hands as hard as the manacles encasing Runaan’s wrists as they squeezed the blood out of his forehead as if Runaan were no more than a sponge to be drained dry. The feel of his skin on his own made Runaan want to vomit on his shoes and spit in his face. He might have been tempted if there were anything in his stomach to throw up. Viren relished the power he held over him, enjoying the wince that Runaan couldn’t bite down fast enough as he dug into Runaan’s flesh. Once again, the man dangled a plate of food and drink in front of him. Runaan refused to so much as look at it, even as his stomach rumbled, his hunger so acute that it was a living pain inside him. 

Viren left after that. The instant the cell door closed behind him, Runaan sagged against the wall, biting back a scream of despair. Why, _why_ hadn’t he fallen on his own sword after he’d shot off the arrow to the dragon queen? It could have been over. He hadn’t planned on dying in this mission, he had promised Ethari, but that didn’t matter. He was always prepared for death. But this lingering, drawn out mockery of life was unbearable. How much longer would Viren be content with letting him starve? He couldn’t use him as a living supply for his heinous excuse for magic if Runaan died. 

Four moonshadow elves had fallen in the assault. Runaan’s colleagues. His friends. Ethari could be crying over their sunken lotuses right now. What had Viren done with their bodies? Harvested for parts, no doubt. Horns. Hair. Teeth. Fingernails. Skin. Bone. 

Being dead, their magical essence was nowhere near as potent as Runaan’s, whose wretched heart persisted in beating. He wouldn’t be granted the mercy of dying properly until Viren had exploited him for all that he was worth. He was no more than a thing to him. This is why they had expelled humans from Xadia. To them, magical beings were things. Tools. 

Tears pricked Runaan’s eyes. His breath hitched as they fell down his cheeks, unable to keep the sobs at bay anymore. He was so tired. His arm throbbed, the band so tight that it bit into his muscles like a burning brand.

Why did he have to send Rayla after that soldier? Why didn’t he listen to Ethari? He was usually right in the end. He knew Rayla better than Runaan did, clearly. She wasn’t cut out to be an assassin. Runaan had been so eager to teach her his craft, and she had been so willing, so enthusiastic. Her talent and skill were remarkable. But she wasn’t like him. She was like her parents. She defended, not attacked in the dark. She had actually appointed herself as those human princes’ personal bodyguard. Protecting humans against him, as if he were the unreasonable one. 

A soft hum sounded down the corridor. Runaan gasped. 

Gren was singing again. He must have heard everything. Sound carried so well in this wretched prison. Shame burned in Runaan’s gut. Cursing, he bit his bottom lip, hard, trying to control his breathing, but his panting breaths wouldn’t cease. Days of hunger and pain had dulled his discipline, leaving him a weakling, but he wouldn’t give the human the satisfaction of hearing him weep. Could he be granted at least that small dignity?

Gren continued to hum. It was no use. He heard. Of course he heard. And there was no point in telling him to stop. Runaan would just get drawn into another conversation and he had no patience for it. Sighing, he dropped his head against his good arm. 

The song wasn’t a cheerful ditty this time. The tune was somber, muted. There were no lyrics. Gren just sounded it out in his throat. Despite the melancholy tone, it was strangely soothing, the sort of thing Runaan would have enjoyed back home. Not that he would admit that to the human. He shut his eyes. Taking the path of least resistance, he let the song distract him from the myriad pains assaulting his body and mind. When it ended, Gren began another, also soft and gentle. Could he be trying to comfort Runaan? If he was, it must be part of his scheme to get Runaan’s guard down. Runaan couldn’t trust him. Any moment now, Gren would try to strike up a conversation again, try to coax his name and information out of him.

But he didn’t. He simply continued to sing until Runaan drifted off into exhausted slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for forced feeding at the beginning of the second scene

“How can you be so cheerful in a place like this?” Runaan asked.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed since the strange human had lulled him to sleep. The absence of the pull of the moon was his only indicator that it was daytime. As usual, Gren was being vocal, whistling this time. Perhaps he did so out of boredom. Still, did he have to sound so damn happy? How could he even muster the desire, or the energy?

“It’s important to keep one’s spirits up,” Gren chirped. “Sure, I could mope, but that wouldn’t do any good. Sooner or later, General Amaya will find out that I’m in here and get me out, and I’ll do her no good if I’m depressed. So I do what I gotta do to stay positive.”

Runaan rolled his eyes. So ludicrous. 

“You’re an odd person,” Runaan said, not at all praising.

“I can tell you don’t mean it that way, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

There was an interesting piece of information in Gren’s bizarre philosophy.

“You serve under General Amaya?” Runaan asked.

“Heard of her, have you?”

“Hard not to. She has a fearsome reputation.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that on to her. She’d like it.”

“You know her personally?”

“I’m her interpreter.”

Viren had thrown Amaya’s interpreter in the dungeon? Fallout from Harrow’s death, no doubt. Viren must be vying for the throne. Why else would he undermine the kingdom’s most powerful general? 

“How did you become her interpreter?” Runaan asked. 

“Her old one wanted to retire and she liked me best out of all the candidates. We get on well.” Gren sounded fond. “I’ve been with her for two years. The only reason why I’m not with her now is because she trusted me to look for the princes, but, well… This happened.”

“So I heard when Viren put you in here.”

“Will they be okay with her? Your subordinate? If she turns on them—”

“She won’t.”

Rayla never abandoned her charge, even if she had to turn on Runaan to do it. 

Indignation gave way to resignation the more he thought of it, yet a sickly dose of disappointment still clung to the back of his mouth.

“You’re sure?” Gren asked. “It sounds like she turned on you.”

Runaan clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Rayla’s betrayal had been as unthinkable as Lain and Tiadrin abandoning their duty, yet they had all done it. Rayla was their daughter, but this wasn’t the girl he knew, the one he’d raised. Rayla knew the importance of duty better than anyone. She had worked so hard to live beyond her parents’ shame in failing to protect the dragon prince. So when she had discovered it alive, of course she had jumped at the chance to protect it, of course. But it should have been them and them alone taking the egg back to Xadia, not Rayla with some humans, including one of the ones whom they had sworn to kill. 

For how long had Rayla yearned for peace between their peoples? Had it only arisen after they crossed into Katolis? When she spared the soldier and condemned them all? 

She hadn’t meant to doom them. Of course not. She didn’t have it in her to kill. Runaan should never have brought her along. He should have known better. Ethari certainly did. The mission was Runaan’s responsibility. This was his fault. 

“She won’t give up her mission,” Runaan said. “She wants peace. She guarded your princes against me. That’s proof enough that she won’t abandon them now.”

How would Ethari react when he knew what had occurred? He’d be angry with Runaan for not listening to him, that was certain. But would he blame Rayla? Would Rayla even try to go home, or would she avoid the Silvergrove in shame at what she’d done? She would lose her hand for not fulfilling her pledge to kill Prince Ezran. It wouldn’t take much longer now, for her band didn’t have as much muscle and bone to cut through as Runaan’s did. But if she hadn’t abandoned them by now, she wouldn’t, no matter how grim the consequences, not unless they betrayed her first. They had probably bonded, the princes claiming to be as interested in peace as Rayla. Maybe they were. Everything was so much simpler in a child’s mind. But would they be so eager to compromise if they knew that he, an elf, had succeeded in killing their father? For Rayla wouldn’t have told them, would she? She wouldn’t dare. There was too much of a chance that they would react badly. 

“Do you think it’s possible that they’ll reach the dragon queen?” Gren asked. “That they’ll be able to negotiate a truce?”

Queen Zubeia mourned her lost mate and child, but with the return of her prince she would be in a much more forgiving mood. It might be enough to convince her to treat them favorably.

“I don’t know,” Runaan said. “In any case, your mage wants war. It doesn’t matter what King Ezran wants if he isn’t here.”

“We’ll find a way to stop Viren.”

“How? Stuck in this dungeon?”

“General Amaya will stop him.”

Runaan scoffed.

“You’re naïve.”

“You don’t know her, what she can do.”

“I don’t doubt her ability, but things don’t happen simply because we wish it. Elves and humans have been at each other’s throats for centuries. You think three children can stop that?”

“One of them is the King of Katolis. Do not underestimate him.”

Runaan shook his head. He grew weary of this discussion.

“What about your subordinate? You don’t think she can do it?”

Runaan sighed, hanging his head. Rayla could do anything she set her mind to. If only it were the right thing.

“She will try,” he said. “She will do that.”

``````````````````

They began force feeding him the next day. Dizzy, Runaan raised his eyes to the plate of fruit in Viren’s hands and turned away, scowling. Five minutes later, a guard shoved his head back against the wall by his hair and remaining horn while another pried his jaw open and poured a vile concoction down his throat. All the nutrients he needed, Viren said. Runaan jerked against the manacles, kicking out, but they held his legs down. He spat and cursed at them, crying out when one yanked at his bound arm in punishment, blinding agony ripping through him. When they were done, he threw his head forward, trying to throw up the liquid, but nothing came out. 

“You think I’m stupid enough,” Viren sneered, “to feed you something only for you to vomit it at my feet? It doesn’t matter how much you claim to already be dead. You will live, elf, until I give you leave to do otherwise.”

The cell door creaked shut behind him with a loud clang. A scream of fury and despair tore out of Runaan’s throat the moment his footsteps disappeared up the stairs. Gren could still hear him, but what did that matter? He had already heard every moment of Runaan’s humiliation. Tears slipped from Runaan’s eyes before he was even aware of them, breath hitching. He curled up his legs to his chest, still trying to throw up the substance, but it was no use. Starvation would always have been a slow death, but now he could linger on for years in here, a living larder for Viren’s vile magic. His enchanted lotus would continue to float on the pond back home, Ethari gazing at it every chance he got, wondering why he didn’t come home. 

He’d figure it out eventually. Runaan would never leave him willingly. He might do something stupid then. Try to come after him. 

_Stay away, Ethari. Please stay away._

What had he been thinking bringing Rayla here, into the heart of a human realm? Worry overrode his anger, as piercing as the hunger that had vanished had once been. The princes had protected her from General Amaya, their own aunt. If the new king’s authority held sway, she would be safe. But if Viren caught up with them… 

The daughter. She had come by his first few days here, trying to coax him to eat. He hadn’t seen her in days. And Gren had been supposed to lead the party to find the princes. Viren had sent her after them, after Rayla. A human mage was after her. And Runaan could do nothing to protect her. 

“Hey,” Gren called softly.

Runaan ignored him.

“Are you okay?”

Gren sounded worried. Another pretense, or had Runaan’s assault sounded so horrible that even a human felt pity for him?

“Of course I’m not fucking okay,” Runaan growled.

“Right. Yeah, of course not. Sorry.”

It was so cold. They had ripped his tunic and shirt off him to treat his wounds and had left him bereft of their protection afterward. He hadn’t stopped shivering in days. Viren likely enjoyed watching him tremble.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Runaan asked. “Because your new king is trying to make peace?”

“Well, sure. Peace would be nice. But you also don’t deserve this.”

“I killed your king. You’re so willing to move past that?”

“I haven’t moved past it, but I… If we’re ever going to stop killing each other, then we have to stop feeding old grudges. If King Ezran recognizes that, if he’s willing to go to Xadia, then yes, I’m for it. But also… What I just heard....”

Runaan pressed his face against his arm, grimacing.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Gren said. “If you think that killing King Harrow was justice, then… I don’t agree with it. Not at all. But let’s leave it there. A king for a king.”

Runaan turned over these words in his mind, along with all the rest that Gren had spoken so far. He really believed it, didn’t he? Runaan hadn’t considered it, had just assumed that Gren was trying to trick him, because that’s what humans did, but what benefit could Gren get from it? If Viren had his way, neither of them would ever leave this place. Viren had no interest in drawing information from Runaan, so Gren wouldn’t be a plant. He was young. Naïve. So eager to believe that they could really put over a millennium of fighting behind them so easily. Rayla would like him.

“My name,” Runaan said, words sticking in his throat before he pushed them out, “is Runaan.”

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d ever… I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but, well. So, does this mean you’re willing to make a truce?”

Runaan sucked in a deep, exhausted breath that rattled in his chest.

“A truce. But I still think you and your king are being too idealistic.”

“Well, that’s a step forward anyway.”

Runaan shook his head, shutting his eyes. Making peace with a human. Rayla would be overjoyed.

`````````````````

“What are King Ezran and Prince Callum like?” Runaan asked some time later. 

“Idealistic.”

Runaan huffed. It wasn’t a laugh, not quite.

“King Ezran inherited his mother’s sweet tooth. It’s hard to get him to eat anything other than jelly tarts. He’s a happy kid. Always goes around with his glow toad Bait. I think he likes being around animals more than people. He’s kind. I’m sure he’ll be a great king.”

He wouldn’t have if Runaan’s blade had had anything to say about it. It was essential that Gren never learn this, or Runaan’s time here would be even more grueling.

“Prince Callum,” Gren continued, “is kind, too. Very curious. Not very good at riding horses, though. Are you asking to know whether your subordinate is in good hands?”

“She’s not my subordinate anymore. But I have been wondering how they charmed her so quickly.”

“Is that what happened?”

Runaan still held the secret of the dragon egg close to his chest.

“I can’t be sure. I wasn’t there when it happened, just when she chose them over the mission.”

“What is she like? She must share some qualities with the princes, else they wouldn’t have gone with her.”

Runaan sighed. 

“She has a kind heart. So yes. Too kind for assassin’s work. I should have seen it before. She’s stubborn. If she believes something is right, she does it, even when I don’t agree. But she’s smart. Very talented.” A smile, febrile thing, crossed Runaan’s lips for the first time in days. “She’s well on her way to being a better fighter than me. She will protect her charges well.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Gren said, relieved. “Prince Callum isn’t very good at fighting and they’re all alone out there.”

Gren’s voice trailed off in a worried pause. Runaan shared his concern. He had never envisioned Rayla making her way through human lands with no one but two other humans to aid her, and not even fighters at that. She could hold her own, but much could go wrong. 

“Have you ever failed a mission?” Gren asked.

Runaan frowned. Why was he asking this now?

“Would you be glad to hear that I didn’t kill all my targets?”

“That’s not why I’m asking. It’s a general question.”

Gren was a bad liar.

“No, it isn’t. Something troubles you.”

Gren sighed.

“General Amaya trusted me to rescue her nephews. She told me not to trust Viren. I mean, I knew we couldn’t, but I should have done something before he threw me in here. I thought he’d be more subtle, maybe try to kill me on the road, not betray me immediately. I should have known. I should have. I failed her trust.”

“You fear she’ll blame you for it.”

“No. Well, no. She’s not like that. But the king and the prince are in danger with a mage on their tail. Viren sent his kids after them.”

Runaan’s right hand curled into a fist. As he suspected. Rayla was being hunted by the same human mage who had thrown him in here. She wasn’t trained to fight them, possessing no more magical ability than the one they were all born with. And Viren had no interest in the new king returning to take the throne he so plainly coveted for himself. 

_Rayla’s strong. She can handle this. I wouldn’t have allowed her to come along if she weren’t capable of facing the dangers lurking in human lands._

“Rayla will protect them,” Runaan said, as much to himself as to Gren. 

“Rayla? That’s her name?”

“Yes.”

“I do hope she can protect them. I can’t do anything from in here, and General Amaya has no idea.”

“Weren’t you so certain that she’d soon get you out?”

“Your moroseness is rubbing off on me. And she’s busy guarding the breach from sunfire elves.”

“I’m sure they have a good reason to hound you.”

“Sure. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”

“Of course not. By the way, you didn’t answer my question. Come on. I just admitted my current, possibly catastrophic failing. Surely you can scrounge up one.”

Runaan exhaled slowly through his nose.

“I failed this one,” he said.

“This one? But you killed the king. That was your objective.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to be at this cost. It was a dangerous mission from the start. We knew that chances were high that some of us wouldn’t survive, but the peril would be minimized by having the element of surprise. We lost that when Rayla failed to kill a soldier who came across us in the night. I trusted that she was ready, but she faltered. She let him go.”

“So that’s how he survived. We wondered how he could have possibly gotten so lucky as to survive a lone encounter with a moonshadow elf.”

Even in his exhaustion, Runaan felt a spark of pride at Gren’s awe at the prowess of his people. 

“His life cost us ours. The castle readied itself against us. And we all paid the price.”

“Except Rayla. Did she meet the princes before the assault?”

“She snuck into the castle early to try to make it up to me. At some point she joined them. We didn’t have time to go into detail.”

“So you think you failed because you didn’t realize how unsuited she was for the mission before it was too late.”

“Everything my team does is my responsibility. They all died. I should have died with them.”

His hands clenched, a shock of pain cascading down his left arm. He winced, scrunching his eyes closed.

“Are you okay?” 

Runaan panted, struggling to ride out the wave of pain.

“I’m fine,” he bit out. 

The cruel judgment of the assassin’s band was a fitting punishment for his failure. Callisto had insisted that they needed everyone to push their way through the Crownguard to the king and the prince, even after Rayla had failed in her task. That was why Runaan had brought six assassins, including himself. They’d needed everyone. But Rayla wouldn’t have helped. She would have hesitated again, probably getting herself killed. If she had stayed in the forest, she would have been safe. 

But she wouldn’t have found the egg. None of them would have searched for something they thought destroyed. So it was a good thing that she’d disobeyed him that time. But not the first time, and certainly not disobeyed him. How could she do that? The girl he and Ethari had raised since she was a toddler when her parents joined the Dragonguard, that they’d helped care for since she was born. Did he know her at all? 

“I’m sorry about your team,” Gren said.

Runaan’s head hung forward, as useless as the rest of him.

“Are you really?”

“Of course. In case it hasn’t been clear, I would rather no one had died.”

Runaan snorted.

“Is that what you will do when you return to your post at the Breach? Advocate for peace and harmony between elves and humans? Forget the elves you have killed?”

“Actually, I haven’t killed any elves. Anyone for that matter.”

What?

“That’s impossible. You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but my role is a little more nuanced. I would rather engage with words than with blades. General Amaya has that part covered, as do the rest.”

“A soldier who doesn’t fight? That doesn’t make any sense.”

It couldn’t be a lie. No one would come up with something so ridiculous.

“It makes sense to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of it. I haven’t killed any of your people. I thought we were moving past these recriminations. I can both hate your mission and be sorry that your friends were killed. Believe me. Don’t believe me. I would rather you did believe me, though. Else my first attempt at elf-human diplomatic relations will be a bust. I’d rather not add another failure right now. So… Do you believe me?”

“Only because General Amaya’s aide not killing anyone is too ludicrous to be a lie.”

“It’s not… Ugh, whatever. I’ll take it.”

```````````````````

“What would you do if got out of here?”

Runaan cracked his eyes open. His nausea had yet to subside from his recent forced feeding. He continued to resist, even if it was futile and earned him a harsh fist to the face. His dignity was worth the headache. The moment he gave in and cooperated, he would lose himself. 

“There’s no point in speculating about that,” he replied. “It’s never going to happen.”

“It’s just a thought exercise. Something to keep from being bored. I keep thinking about giving my parents a big hug. Not that I’ll be able to go straight home. There’s too much to do before that.”

He will be able to do those things. Gren was certain that his general would get him released. 

“You have the luxury of making plans,” Runaan said, mouth dry. “I don’t.”

Gren was quiet for a while.

“Right,” he said. “Sorry. Never mind.”

An awkward silence stretched between them. They so often were. Runaan was starting to dislike that somehow.

“I would find Rayla,” he said. “And I would go home.”

Ethari would run to him and hold him tight, greeting him with a delighted smile and a warm kiss that would melt Runaan to the core of his soul.

“Where’s home? What’s it called?”

Runaan smiled at the memories, wishing to feel Ethari’s skin one more time, his yearning so keen that it hurt like a knife under his skin.

“Silvergrove. It’s integrated with our natural surroundings. Not like your human settlements that exclude everything else.”

“Is there anyone there waiting for you?”

Runaan’s throat clenched painfully.

“I don’t have many friends left after this trip. But I have a husband. The sooner I die, the sooner he’ll be free to pursue happiness elsewhere.”

His breath hitched, eyes stinging. Ethari would wait beside the pond until the end watching Runaan’s metal lotus, which would never sink, not until Viren granted Runaan the mercy to stop breathing, for he would never leave this place.

“I doubt he’d see it like that,” Gren said, distraught.

A hollow laugh escaped Runaan’s throat. Pity from a human. Concern, even. Gren truly was soft-hearted. Rayla would like him. Ethari, too.

“It’s not up to him. Or me. I will die here. The only good thing for either of us right now is for it to happen quickly.”

A soft “I’m sorry” was Gren’s only response. There was nothing else to say.


	3. Chapter 3

A creaking roused him. Runaan opened his eyes, not that he could see much in the gloom, the only illumination a sliver of light through the bottom of the door from a light crystal out in the corridor. Unfamiliar footsteps approached him. Not Viren or any of the guards who had come here before. It was the middle of the night. The moon waned, its power difficult to feel at all down here, but he could still perceive it. What were they going to do to him at this hour? 

The lock clacked. He braced himself for a fresh humiliation, eyes squeezing shut, grimacing. 

They were taking too long. The door should have opened by now, yet the person outside continued to fiddle with the lock. 

They didn’t have a key. They were trying to pick it. 

“There,” a triumphant voice whispered as something clicked inside the lock and the door pushed inward. A very familiar voice. Light streamed inside the cell, cutting a ribbon across the floor, illuminating a tall, red-headed human with a wide grin on his face.

“It’s me,” he said, rushing to crouch before Runaan. “It’s Gren.”

Runaan stared at him, speechless. Yes, that was Gren’s voice. He’d know it anywhere after being subjected to it for so long. 

“You broke out,” Runaan said, suddenly feeling very stupid for stating the obvious.

“Yup.” Gren grabbed the manacle on Runaan’s right wrist and began to pick it. The skin at Gren’s wrists was chaffed raw from his own manacles, just like Runaan’s own. “I picked my locks with a wood splinter I ripped from the headboard my manacles are strung from. It took me forever to coax it free. I kept being afraid that it would be too short or fall out of my hand as soon as I had it.” 

The manacle opened. For the first time in over a week, Runaan lowered his arm. The constant, searing pain in his back flared. He winced, flexing his fingers. They were numb, every joint aching. 

“What the hell?” 

Gren’s hissed exclamation made Runaan look up. Gren was staring at the assassin’s band in mute horror. Runaan’s circulation was so compromised that his entire arm was purple, every move painful. 

“What did he do to you?” Gren whispered, one hand hovering over the armband, afraid to touch him. 

He was furious. There was no chance of trickery now, not this close. Gren’s shock was too naked to be anything but genuine. He was truly appalled on Runaan’s behalf. 

“I’ll explain later,” Runaan said. “Just get me out of this thing, please.”

His own shock had been so great that he didn’t fully realize until now what was occurring. This was no dream or feint. Gren, a human whom he’d never met before, whose king he had killed, who thought so lowly of him for being an assassin, was breaking him out of prison. And he was removing his shackle as gently as if he were handling an injured bird, keeping the manacle very still on his wrist with one hand while he inserted the splinter in the lock with the other. When the lock clicked open, he held Runaan’s arm with one hand so it wouldn’t fall abruptly, yet that wasn’t enough to keep Runaan from crying out as pain flared through him. He covered his mouth with his right arm, but it was too late. With any luck, if anyone had heard, they wouldn’t think it was any different than the other times when his pain had leaked through. They hadn’t cared then. 

“We need to get this thing off,” Gren said, glaring at the band as he fiddled with the clasp.

“It’s no use,” Runaan gasped. “We can’t waste time. We need to leave.”

“Are you sure? If I can just… I wish I had a knife.”

“There’s no time.”

Runaan started pushing himself to his feet, bracing himself with his right arm against the wall, but his whole body ached from being forced in the same position for days, his muscles weak from inactivity. He almost collapsed back on the floor, hand slipping on the wall, but Gren grabbed him before he could fall.

“I’ve got you,” he said, stretching Runaan’s right arm across his shoulders. 

They began to walk forward. Runaan’s legs were slow to respond, but every step was more certain than the last. His arm, however, was a lump of pain hanging uselessly at his side, their jerky motions making him wince and grit his teeth. 

“Shit,” Gren muttered, propping Runaan against the wall. “You need a sling for that arm. I’ll use my belt.”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed at Gren’s waist as he unfastened his belt. Every action the man took felt like a strange dream, a scene from some tall tale, not reality.

“Why are you helping me?” Runaan asked.

Belt off, Gren refastened it to form a loop and slung it over Runaan’s head so it hung across his torso. Runaan bent his arm to push it through the loop.

“I told you,” Gren said, touching Runaan’s elbow as he adjusted the belt. “You’re my first attempt at human-elf diplomatic relations. I wouldn’t be very good at my task if I left you here.”

“General Amaya wouldn’t approve of you releasing me.”

Gren stilled for a second.

“Maybe,” he said, then met Runaan’s eyes. “But she wouldn’t approve of what Viren is doing to you, either. And I can’t leave you here.”

Runaan had often wondered what Gren looked like when he made his idealist declarations of peace, if his face matched the apparent sincerity of his words. Passion burned in Gren’s eyes with a firm conviction that Runaan had last seen in Rayla. What anger he felt towards Runaan was sublimated by his disgust for Runaan’s callous treatment and his own determination to succeed in the mission he had assigned himself after failing in his official one. There had been no feint in his earlier declarations. He truly intended to follow in his new king’s footsteps and let bygones be bygones, even if that meant making peace with someone whom he considered a murderer. 

Lowering his eyes, Runaan tipped his head forward, not in a full bow, but enough for his meaning to be clear. Gren’s eyes widened, surprised. He had expected Runaan to continue resisting him. He tipped his own head forward, the motion awkward, but sincere, as if he were uncertain what to do, but didn’t want to stick his foot in it. 

“Right,” he muttered. “Now that that’s sorted out.”

He moved to Runaan’s right side. This time, Runaan draped his arm around his shoulders unprompted. His left arm continued to throb, the edges of the belt digging uncomfortably into his skin, but it held his arm mostly in place as they walked, which helped immensely to keep him from wanting to pass out. He’d never thought he’d be glad for Viren’s vile concoction, but not starving was a huge boon right now. Dizziness no longer crept at the edges of his vision. His reflexes were sluggish, but moving was slowly waking them up. 

“Do you have a plan to get out?” Runaan asked. 

“Not exactly. It’s the middle of the night, so the amount of people around should be minimal, but the only way out of the castle is still a well-watched bridge.”

“That’s why we scaled the cliff.”

Gren snorted.

“Of course you did. Well, I’m afraid my skills aren’t advanced enough to do that.”

Runaan frowned, assessing the various weaknesses and aches in his body. His left arm alone made such a descent impossible without the right supplies.

“Neither could I right now. We need weapons.”

“I don’t think two prisoners whose bodies are screaming for a week long nap are going to hold up against the Crownguard. We need to sneak past them.”

“Which is easier done if we take some of them out first.”

Gren jerked to a stop and narrowed his eyes at him. Once Runaan unclenched his jaw from the latest assault on his aching limbs, he met Gren’s disapproving gaze. 

“We don’t have to kill them,” he said. “Just knock them unconscious.”

Although it would be a lot easier to kill them. Gren assessed him for a moment further before continuing down the corridor.

“Knocking them unconscious works,” he said. “And weapons would help.”

They passed by the staircase that Runaan had been dragged down when they threw him in here. 

“Where are we going?” Runaan asked.

“If we go up the staircase, we’ll have to cross halfway across the castle grounds in plain sight. But there is another way out. There has to be. I’ve seen Viren come and go this way. And General Amaya told me that there are underground passages in this castle and in the walls, a quick way to get around if you know how.”

“Do you know how?”

“Um, well, no. I’ve never been down there. But I have a good sense of direction. We’re heading north right now. We need to head southeast from here to get to the bridge. As long as we don’t lose sight of which way we’re going, I should get us there.”

Runaan wasn’t so sure, but he had no choice but to trust Gren. What a bizarre turn of events this week had turned out to be. 

The corridor ended in nothing but a blank wall with a blue light crystal in a sconce. 

“You’re sure you saw him come this way?” Runaan asked.

“Yes. I did.” 

Gren propped him up against the wall and pressed his hands over the stones, feeling around in the cracks.

“There’s got to be something,” he muttered. “Some hidden mechanism. That’s always how it works. A loose brick or latch.”

Runaan stepped beside him, touching the wall as well. He was steadier on his feet now, at least as long as he had something to support himself against. He peered at the sconce. Gren caught him looking.

“Maybe that’s it,” Gren said. 

Runaan reached up and lifted up the crystal its hanging. Nothing. No, that was too simple. Putting the crystal back down, he pressed the sconce itself. Still nothing. Gren started fiddling with the sconce, too, both of them testing every inch of the metal until Runaan’s fingers pushed against a tiny latch hidden right against the wall. With a creak, the wall pushed inward, blasting them with a draft of cold air, yet it smelled far better than the filthy dungeon. They both stepped back, bracing themselves in case of attack. Runaan stumbled, half reaching out for Gren, but he stayed on his feet. 

The space beyond revealed no one. An icy blue light emanated from within, illuminating a wide, cavernous space lined with columns to support the castle above. Blue crystals were set all along the walls, lighting the room. They cast long, ominous shadows that stretched along the floors and walls like monsters lurking in the darkness.

“Of course he’d make it look eerie,” Gren grumbled. 

“You realize it’s entirely possible we might run into him if we go this way.”

“At this hour? It’s kinda late for us humans. In any case, we will definitely run into the Crownguard if we go straight outside.”

“Good point. Let’s go, then.” 

Runaan shivered as they crossed the threshold. The cold that infested the dungeon was even sharper here in this larger space, emanating from the stone edifice standing atop them. Not for the first time, he wished his captors had at least had the decency to let him keep his tunic. Gren’s body pressed against his didn’t help, for he was clad in armor, which made the chill even more acute.

“You might want to lose that armor,” Runaan said. “It’s no good for stealth.”

He didn’t mention that the metal it was made of was making him feel worse. The armor did clink every time Gren moved, so his suggestion was apt in any case. 

“You’re right,” Gren said with regret. “Better get it over with, then.”

After walking Runaan toward a column, Gren began to untie his left armguard. 

“To be honest,” Gren continued with a grim smile, “I’ve been fantasizing about taking this off since I got here. It’s not exactly loungewear.”

The armguard came loose. Gren lowered it to the floor, careful that it didn’t clank against it. 

“It will go faster if I help you remove it,” Runaan said.

Gren nodded and turned his back to Runaan, who, despite having suggested his aid, was shocked at the show of trust. He’d expected Gren to remain facing him, keeping him in sight, yet Gren didn’t seem concerned in the least that Runaan might attack him. It would be immensely ungrateful to do so, but that hardly stopped the worst in people. And Runaan was an elf. An assassin. An enemy. 

Or he should have been. Gren had once seen him as such, yet it was keenly obvious that this wasn’t the case anymore. Breathless, Runaan reached for the bindings at Gren’s shoulders and got to work. He wasn’t familiar with this kind of protective gear, and untying it one handed wasn’t the quickest, but soon all the metallic components lied on the ground, leaving Gren in a shirt, a black, woolen jacket with the army symbol of twin, sideways squares on a sleeve, and black trousers. The clothes fit him more loosely than they should, evidence of his malnourishment at Viren’s mercy, even though he had happily eaten what little had been provided to him.

“Let’s go,” Runaan said, supporting himself on Gren’s shoulder. 

With one last, regretful look at his abandoned gear, Gren moved forward. As they walked, Runaan’s footing became surer, a different soreness creeping inside his muscles. It would be a long while before he was in peak condition again, but he could move well enough to get out of this wretched place. He had to. Gren’s gait was stiff as well. He tried to hide the ache in his own limbs, but even in the dim light, the strain showed on his face. Runaan tried to lean on him less, but Gren pressed himself closer to him with a knowing glance, so Runaan gave up. The incongruity of their situation became less important by the minute. Runaan found himself more comfortable accepting their truce, for Gren had proved himself a man of his word. He could have (should have, according to his duty) left Runaan to rot in his cell, yet he hadn’t. He had earned Runaan’s trust. Marveling at the seemingly impossible situation would have to wait until they’d made their way out here, if that was even possible. But they damn well would try. Runaan had made Ethari a promise. He wouldn’t squander this opportunity. 

They slowly made their way along a series of interconnected halls and large galleries until they reached a doorway. The hallway continued, but in the wrong direction according to Gren. The same blue light emanated from beneath the door. They pressed themselves against the wood, listening. Nothing. If there was anyone inside, they were being as quiet as them. Slowly, Gren gripped the doorknob and pushed. They both fell back against the doorframe in case of an attack, but nothing happened. Runaan peered forward. It looked like a storeroom. Gren did the same and looked at Runaan, nodding toward the room. Runaan dipped his chin in assent. Gren stepped forward, keeping low. 

“There’s no one here,” he said a few moments later.

Runaan limped inside, searching every corner he could see just in case, but he soon froze, a horrified gasp escaping his lips. Animal bodies hovered in jars. Bones. Teeth. A shadowpaw head. 

Horns. 

He rushed to the jar sitting on the shelf across the room, legs moving automatically, and grabbed it, gaping in revulsion at the contents, bile rising in his throat. Moonshadow elf horns. How many? Seven? Eight? 

Nine. His own broken horn lied nestled between ones that he was sure belonged to Skor. Viren had cut the horns off his friends’ heads and stored them as if they were flour, mere ingredients for dark magic. The horns rattled in the jar as his hand began to shake, a furious scream of grief and rage clenching in his throat, but he couldn’t let it out. He couldn’t do anything. He’d failed. This was his fault, not Rayla’s. She was but a child trying to make him proud by following in his footsteps. Ethari had warned him. He’d warned him! Why hadn’t Runaan listened to him? Why?! 

Skor. 

Callisto. 

Andromeda. 

Ram. 

Dead. All dead. Because of him. 

Gren hovered to his right, silent. If it were any other human, Runaan would growl and lash out, but he didn’t. Gren hadn’t done this. He had rescued Runaan from his cell, half-carried him here, made a sling for his injured arm. He stared at the horns in dread, understanding dawning in his wide eyes. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered, appalled. “Are those—”

“Yes,” Runaan interrupted before Gren could finish. “These are my friends’ horns.”

His voice shook with barely contained fury. Putting the jar down on a table, he reached inside, but he stopped, shaking, afraid to touch them. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gren said. “I can’t imagine. I would never treat an enemy this way. I can’t believe that King Harrow would allow this.”

“Well, he did. He may have been dead when this happened, but look around this room. How do you think dark magic is done? Magical creatures don’t volunteer themselves to be slaughtered so that you can make a fire or build a bridge by magic. We are nothing but tools in dark mages’ perverted craft. To them, we’re not living beings. We’re things. Do you understand?”

Gren barely met his eyes before turning away in shame, face going red. Good. He hadn’t understood earlier when he’d apologized for being complicit with dark magic, but he certainly did now that he couldn’t deny the sick reality of what really kept his kingdom standing. 

“King Harrow used dark magic to kill the king of the dragons,” Runaan continued. “Viren was his right-hand man. Don’t insult me by trying to deny it.”

“I’m not. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I didn’t think. I should have.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Gren hung his head, hands fiddling nervously in front of him, looking like he was awaiting Runaan’s judgement. Runaan huffed and looked away, bracing himself against the table, the wood cutting into his palms. Shutting his eyes, he fought back the tears stinging them. They had no time for this now. Not to mourn or fight or even to dispose of his friends’ horns in the manner that they deserved. They were too bulky to take with them. If he burned them here, the smoke might alert someone to their presence. Sucking in an anguished breath, he reached inside the jar, wincing as his hand grazed his friends’ horns to grab his own. He pulled it out. It sat on his palm, a piece of himself that he’d willingly sacrificed in the name of justice. Was it selfish that he was rescuing his own horn while leaving the others here to be used by that vile wretch?

Yes. The fair thing would be to drop his horn and walk away, but the thought of giving that man any more of himself made his stomach churn and his limbs tremble. He slipped the horn in his pocket, stepping back. 

He stumbled. Gren rushed to grab him before he could fall. Runaan flinched at his touch. Gren’s face pinched, hurt, and he started moving away. Runaan grabbed his shoulder, halting him in his tracks.

“No,” he said, the fight draining out of him, leaving crumpled exhaustion in its wake. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing, summoning the tattered edges of his strength. “I apologize. Thank you for your help.”

Gren looked stunned. His mouth opened, but he shut it, nodding, his uncertainty a comfort. The human princes must be like him. No wonder Rayla trusted them.

“Of course,” Gren said. “I’m happy to help. I will try to do better from now on.”

Runaan knew what he was referring to. He nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Viren may be keeping my weapons here, too,” Runaan said. “Let’s also look for anything connected to the moon arcanum. Something that was never alive.”

Gren nodded.

“I’m afraid that I won’t be able to recognize if something is connected to the moon, though.”

“Just show me anything that didn’t have a pulse.”

“Okay.”

Once he was sure that Runaan was steady on his feet, Gren moved to the opposite side of the room. They both rooted through the shelves and cabinets, Gren bringing him stones and crystals, most unusable by Runaan, but at last he dug out a pouch filled with moon opals.

“Perfect,” Runaan said, slipping the opals in his pocket next to his horn.

“I take it you’re planning on doing something magical with them,” Gren said. “Are you a mage?”

“No. But I can do simple illusions with moonstones.”

“That sounds amazing.”

Gren’s face and voice grew soft with awe. Humans had no connection to a primal source. It sounded lonely. Did they feel the lack, that there was something missing? It didn’t seem like the sort of thing one could ask, so Runaan kept his questions to himself. 

A minute later, he found the weapons, a chest full of them, each carefully wrapped in cloth. The moonshadow blades sat on top. After calling Gren over, they uncovered Skor’s short sword, Andromeda’s curved one, and Ram’s small knives. A handful of arrows were wrapped in a bundle, all used previously. And there, right below them, lay Runaan’s bow blades. His heart thundered as he picked them up, snatching away the cloth wrappings to reveal the lovingly crafted swords that had saved his life countless times, and which had taken so many others. He set them on the floor and connected the handles. The enchanted string of the bow appeared instantly at the tips of the blades. Runaan sighed in relief. There was no reason for the enchantment to be broken, but he had no idea what Viren had done to his weapon. 

“That’s impressive,” Gren said, studying the bow with avid interest. 

“It was made by the greatest smith in the Silvergrove,” Runaan said lovingly, stroking one of the hilts. 

“Your husband?” 

Runaan nodded. 

“He made all of these.”

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but… Runaan held the bow out to Gren, whose eyes widened in shock.

“I can’t wield it right now,” Runaan said tightly. “You need to take it.”

Gren pressed his lips together, looking a little queasy.

“I’m not asking you to shoot anyone,” Runaan said. “Just carry it for me. Besides, it would be much better if we can escape unnoticed. I think I have a way to get through without having to engage the guards.”

Sighing, Gren took the bow, careful not to touch the blades. 

“By casting illusions? How would that work?”

“We’ll have to be very silent. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can.”

“I don’t mean to insult you. I don’t know what your skills are.”

“I’m sure if I tried to copy your brilliant stealth skills, I’d embarrass myself, but I’m not incompetent. I’ll follow your lead. But please try not to kill anyone.”

Runaan nodded. Gren wasn’t asking for a promise, so at least he recognized that it might be necessary to keep the option open. Turning back to the weapons, Runaan picked up Skor’s straight blade, a near twin to his own, the arrows, and two of Ram’s small knives, tucking them in his belt. 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

Gren stood up first and helped Runaan get on his feet, whose legs were only slightly less wobbly than before. It was progress, but slow, much too slow. Once they were outside, the moon would help him regain some of his strength, especially if the sky was clear. It would have to do. 

````````````````

Winding their way through the underground passages took longer than anticipated. They had to double track a couple of times. Gren assured him that he still knew which cardinal direction they were headed in, but Runaan wouldn’t be reassured until he could see the moon and stars for himself. At last, they reached a staircase. It led up one story, then two, three, each time passing by a landing with no door, probably more secret doors like the one that had lead them here. Every step was increasing agony as every injury in Runaan’s body protested. Gren began to flag as well, though he pretended to be fine. Behind the fourth landing, they heard the clink of armor heading away. They were in the wall surrounding the castle on the top floor. The moon was close, only one stone barrier separating them. It had been lending Runaan strength as he ascended, but not enough to blend into the shadows on his own. 

“We’re going to need to go through here, aren’t we?” Gren whispered.

“Yes.”

They had discussed a plan on the way here. Runaan would use a moon opal to disguise them as part of the wall until they made it over the gate. The illusion worked best if they were still, but they’d just have to count on the darkness of the night to disguise them further. Even at a quarter, the moon would boost the magic to aid them. Or so he hoped. However, there was nothing he could do to disguise sound, nor had he counted on emerging right next to the Crownguard. 

“You’re sure we’re close to the gate?” Runaan asked. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Are you sure you’re not going to fall down?”

The trouble posed by Runaan only being able to use one arm had been discussed at length. Gren had tried to insist on carrying Runaan over the gate, but that was ridiculous. Runaan was too heavy for him to carry around unnoticed, even with the illusion. At long last, Gren agreed to help Runaan climb by staying close behind him, supporting him when he had to move his arm. 

“I won’t fall,” Runaan said. “Just stick to the plan.”

“Unless it all goes to pieces the moment someone sees us.”

“Then we use plan B.”

Runaan glanced at the bow slung around Gren’s torso. Gren’s face hardened, displeased, but he didn’t argue. He grabbed Runaan’s right arm so they wouldn’t get separated once the illusion took hold. Runaan pulled out a moon opal, crushed it, and murmured,

“Mystica petram.”

Casting the crumbled rock over them both, he pressed the locking mechanism on the wall. He braced himself for it to scrape loudly as it opened, but it slid as silently as the one in the dungeon. He peered inside the corridor. The stars gleamed overheard, the moon a sliver half-hidden by a tower at the end of the curtain wall, whose parapet stretched before them. Two soldiers stood a few yards away, conversing. Runaan recognized their position. They were right next to the gate. Gren had delivered them successfully after all. Slowly, they crept outside. Even in his deplorable condition, Runaan’s steps were completely silent, but Gren’s made a whisper of a sound. It wasn’t his fault. He clearly hadn’t been trained in stealth. He was doing a good job under the circumstances. The guards weren’t alerted to their presence, not yet. Creeping toward the wall, Runaan looked over it. The gate was just to their left. Perfect. Now the trick was getting down to it without crashing into the rocks below. 

A week ago, he’d have been able to jump onto the wall and scale down with ease. Now he had to bite his lip not to grunt as he pulled himself onto the crenulated section after Gren had done so. The next few minutes were a nerve-wracking series of excruciatingly careful searches for foot and handholds on the wall, which was thankfully old enough to be cracked and worn instead of smooth, as they slunk their way toward the gate. Gren pressed against Runaan’s bottom to support him, an undignified position, but it got the job done. Runaan had never thought to train in one armed climbs, clearly an oversight. He’d have to get some practice if they made it out of here alive. He’d have no choice. 

They were halfway down the gate archway when Gren’s foot slipped. He yanked at Runaan’s belt, jarring his arm. Runaan cried out. 

“What was that?” someone said overhead.

Shit. Gren breathed on his lower back, pressing his head against him, his body still. 

_Please don’t move_ , Runaan thought as he reached inside his pocket and pulled out an opal. He crushed it in his hand. 

“Mystica vespertilio,” he whispered and threw the stone dust into the dark.

A flock of bats emerged, sweeping up the walls in a noisy torrent. Cries and curses resounded from the guards as they rushed to duck away from the onslaught. Runaan nudged Gren with his leg and Gren kept descending, faster this time. Runaan almost fell the last feet in his haste to get onto the bridge. 

They ran. The illusions wouldn’t last much longer. Runaan glanced over his shoulder, but no one was paying attention to the bridge with bats sweeping at their heads. At the end of the bridge, Gren grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the forest to the right. The illusion had fallen away, allowing them to see each other again, just in time to hide in the trees. 

Agony goaded their every step, but they couldn’t afford to slow down. They must cover as much distance as soon as possible. In only a few hours it would be morning and someone would go into the dungeons, discovering their absence. Gren tugged Runaan’s arm over his shoulder and Runaan clung to him, grateful for the support. Keeping to the underbrush, they followed parallel to the road leading into the city at the base of the cliffs the castle sat astride of. The river that provided the castle’s natural moat curled to the east, a much quicker route to the border than going on foot. If they could make it to the riverbank unseen, they might be able to steal a boat and escape. The way was long and agonizingly slow. Even out of the castle, they must still keep as quiet as possible to avoid the patrols. Runaan was ready to act should they come across one, but Gren would resent it. Even if the kill was necessary, Runaan didn’t want to displease his only ally if he could avoid it. Their truce was still too fresh, too fragile. 

Somehow, miraculously, they made it to the river without being spotted, but Runaan’s strength was flagging fast. His panting breaths had grown louder, his legs dragging. Gren had to half carry him to keep him from collapsing.

“Just a little further,” Gren murmured in his ear. “We’re almost there. You can make it.”

Runaan didn’t even have the strength to respond. They arrived at the edge of the city where the fishermen dwelled. The moon was high in the sky, but only a couple of hours remained before dawn. The city would begin to wake soon, and with it, their pursuers. A row of small boats lied aground on the shoreline, filled with fishing equipment. Quickly, Gren began to toss the contents of one on the sand.

“We could use that,” Runaan whispered, barely holding himself steady by gripping the edge of the boat.

“I’m not stealing any more than I have to,” Gren hissed back. 

Runaan huffed, but there was no point in objecting. The boat would move more swiftly with less weight, in any case. Hands shaking, he helped to remove the items, then braced himself beside Gren to push the boat into the water. Moments later, he fell to the bottom, welcoming the musty wooden planks as if they were the softest bed. But they weren’t done. He couldn’t leave Gren to row the boat on his own. But no matter how much he wished them to, his limbs refused to budge any further. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, blurring Gren’s form above him, the stars streaks of purple and white in the gleam of the moon. 

“It’s okay,” Gren told him. An oar splashed on the water. “I’ve got this. You can sleep.”

His form was slumped, his own exhaustion gleaming in his sagging face, yet he smiled, comforting, nudging Runaan to let go and deliver himself into his hands. Runaan’s eyes drifted shut and he knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! 
> 
> I meant to post this sooner, but my body decided that it doesn't like me. The next chapter should come out faster.

Gren had never been more tired in his life. Not when he’d worked in his family’s farm from dawn to dusk to make the most of the harvest, or during his training in the army. Every muscle in his body throbbed, even ones he’d never known he’d had. His legs screamed at him, as if they resented being attached to him. Stand. Sit. Stand. Sit. That’s as far as his physicality had gotten for days, broken only by a mad dash across Katolis Castle and City while half carrying an elf who wasn’t as light as he looked. His right knee creaked every time he moved it, the soles of his feet felt scrapped raw, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open as sleepiness dragged at his consciousness. Searing pain shot between his shoulder blades as he rowed. He craved to sleep with a desperation that almost pulled him under. But he couldn’t give in yet. They had only just left the city. The more miles they put between themselves and the castle, the higher their chances of making it to the border. He didn’t suppose that Runaan wanted to go to the breach and risk being arrested again, but they hadn’t gotten that far in their planning. Making it out of the castle had been enough to worry about. 

How had Runaan gotten into Katolis? It hadn’t been through the Breach. Not even moonshadow elves could manage that feat undetected. They must have a secret path elsewhere. Would Runaan tell Gren if he asked him? Probably not. Runaan seemed to trust him for now, but Gren was still human. Their alliance might give way at any moment. Gren had never considered that elves saw humans as monsters. Dark mages, yes. That he could understand. Elves were so disgusted by dark magic that they had exiled every human from Xadia, even though very few of them actually practiced it. 

However, they did all benefit from it. It wasn’t something that Gren had thought much about. It just was, like profiting from a bridge or a boat. Dark magic was a tool, only more like a sword than a hammer. Gren didn’t like using swords, either, but he recognized their necessity.

Or so he’d thought. That storeroom had been horrific. Pieces of dead animals filled it to the brim. And the elf horns… For a second, he’d thought that Runaan would strike him. He wasn’t sure if he would have blamed him if he had. Hearing Runaan cry in the dungeon had twisted a knife in his heart, swaying his opinion of the elf as much as the heated words between them. Runaan’s naked grief in the storeroom had made Gren flush with shame at having benefited his whole life from this butchery. Turning away from what precisely dark magic entailed was no excuse. No wonder Runaan hated humans so much. It was bad enough that King Harrow had killed the dragon king, but he’d also used dark magic to do it, aided by Viren of all people. Gren didn’t agree about King Harrow’s murder being justice, and not only because he was loyal to Katolis, but he could see why Runaan believed it so fervently. What did Gren know about elven society, any of them? Not much. And how much of that were lies? Probably a lot. Maybe even all of it. The drinking blood thing, for one. Runaan didn’t seem the type. Maybe elves thought that humans drank blood. Gren had been stationed at the Breach for years, and yet he hadn’t bothered to learn any more about elves than what he’d been told, and all of that by humans whose only contact with them was fiercely hostile. 

Runaan lied on his back at Gren’s feet. He had fainted as soon as they pushed off from the shore. Given the miserable state he was in, it hadn’t been his choice whether to be conscious or not, but as stubborn as he was, he would have fought it if he didn’t trust Gren to keep him safe. A moonshadow elf who had believed all humans were a danger to his people only a few hours ago had granted Gren that precious trust. 

Gren wouldn’t defraud him. He would do better. This truce might be born of necessity, but he would hold it as long as he could. Runaan would have to turn on him first before Gren broke it, but he didn’t think he would. It might be naïve to think so, gullible Gren trusting too soon again, but this was nothing like with Viren. He would get Amaya to understand. Hopefully. They would make it to the border and he would find some way to keep Runaan safe, even if all he could do was sneak him across the border. He would follow in his new king’s footsteps and make peace, even when it didn’t make sense to an outside eye. But it make sense to Gren. He’d figure out the rest later.

Right now, all he could do was row. 

```````````````````

Gren rowed and rowed. And rowed some more, until his hands were as numb as putty and his eyes drooped with exhaustion, barely staying open for more than a second. Steering the boat toward the shore, he beached it and carried out Runaan, who didn’t stir. It had been a long time since they’d passed any settlements, and the sky began to glow blue with the coming dawn, so hopefully they had put enough distance between themselves and the castle to gain them a few hours respite. One way or the other, Gren couldn’t row one moment longer. If they stayed on the boat, he’d collapse next to Runaan and not wake up again until they plummeted over the waterfall some distance ahead. They’d have to stay here. 

He placed Runaan beneath a tree, hardly enough cover not to be spotted, but there was no helping it. Groaning, Gren fell beside him, curled up in a ball, and was off like a light. 

When he next opened his eyes, the sun shone high overhead. It was a bright day. Nice temperature. Neither too hot or too cold. Pleasantly breezy. If only every inch of his body didn’t hurt, he’d be able to enjoy it. Oh, and being hunted by the nastiest dark mage in the human kingdoms hardly helped one to relax, either. On top of that, he was hungry. And thirsty. And he had to pee. 

Still, it could be worse. He could have a nasty stomach bug. Amaya accused him of being a pathological optimist. She was absolutely right. It didn’t stop him groaning in despair when he forced himself to his feet, though. 

Runaan continued sleeping, lucky devil. A pretty one, too. It was weird seeing someone for the first time after talking to them for three days. Although he had expected Runaan to be good looking. He was an elf, after all. Gren had yet to encounter a non-good looking elf. But Runaan was particularly handsome. He’d been stripped to the waist. His fit, slender waist. Those violet markings really did stretch all the way down, tracing slender circles and curving lines down his pale skin. And his eyes. Were they green or blue? Or teal? Or turquoise? Elves had a wider range of colorings than humans did. Either way, they were so vibrant, like blooming flowers.

Okay, Gren definitely needed to stop thinking about this. Since when did he compare people’s eyes to flowers? And it wasn’t like he’d been checking out Runaan as he unshackled him. He just happened to notice. It was impossible not to when someone was pretty. It was no different than discerning the half-healed cuts on Runaan’s torso and left thigh, or the purple bruises scattered over him. 

Alright, maybe it was a twinge different. So what? Runaan was pretty. It was a perfectly objective observation. 

The bruises on his face looked a little better, although Gren hadn’t gotten the best look at them yesterday. Like with Runaan’s looks, Gren had had other things to worry about than examining the injuries Runaan had acquired while murdering Gren’s king. Funny how he was getting more and more comfortable with that concept. 

It was what it was. There was no turning back the clock now, and Runaan had been punished severely for it. That ribbon strangling his arm was particularly sadistic. Gren could swear that it was tighter than last night. Why was Runaan so certain that nothing could cut it off? It must be a magical device that Gren knew nothing about, but that didn’t stop him from slipping out one of the knives from Runaan’s belt and pressing it to the band, careful not to cut him. 

Nothing, not even the slightest fraying of fabric. He pressed harder, nudging at the band with the tip of the blade. 

Runaan lurched to the side, crying out. Gren quickly dropped the knife, hands raised.

“Sorry!” he said. “I’m sorry. I know you said that it can’t come off, but I wanted to try.”

Panting heavily, Runaan glared at him before falling back on the ground and shutting his eyes. He held his injured arm, fingers barely pressing down. Guilt wobbled sickly through Gren. 

“There’s got to be some way of getting it off,” Gren said. “Even if it’s a magical whatsit, there’s always the one thing that works, isn’t there? Or does Viren need to take it off himself?”

“Viren didn’t do this,” Runaan grumbled. He pushed himself to a sitting position, right arm pressed hard on the ground. “I did.”

Gren gawked at him. 

“You did? Why?”

Runaan avoided his gaze, seeming to consider something. He finally looked up, grim and wary, but determined. 

“When moonshadow assassins are sent on an important mission, we bind ourselves to complete it. There’s no turning back. Deciding to spare your target’s life despite your orders is not an option. To prevent this, we bind ourselves to fulfill our oaths with these. One for each target. They only come off once the target is dead. Until they are, they tighten until they sever the limb. Nothing can alter this.”

Cold trickled through Gren like a sudden shadow on a winter night.

“You killed King Harrow,” he said carefully. 

Runaan nodded, face pinched. 

“I sent the fallen band to the dragon queen.”

Gren’s tongue stumbled over the treacherous gap Runaan was avoiding. 

“Justice for the dragon king. And justice for his egg. Which means… You were going to kill King Ezran.”

Runaan tilted his head in assent. Gren lurched back so suddenly that he fell over, landing hard on his side, but he was too angry to be embarrassed.

“He’s just a child,” Gren said, voice rising. 

“A life for a life. Those were the dragon queen’s wishes. I swore to uphold them. I explained this to you.”

“It was enough when we were discussing a grown man. This is a kid.”

“It’s not my place to assign moral judgments. I’m an assassin. This is what I do.”

“You could have passed on the job.”

“And disobeyed my queen? Are you actually asking me that?”

Gren wanted to scream. No, of course he couldn’t argue with that. From everything he knew about moonshadow elves and Runaan, their code of honor was sacrosanct. If his queen ordered him to do something, he would have been shamed publicly by not doing it. Maybe even banished.

“You didn’t have to come yourself. There were plenty of assassins on your team.”

Gren was grasping at straws and they both knew it. 

“I was their leader, and traveling in the human kingdoms is highly dangerous. Encountering any human could mean death. I would never have let my people come here on their own. They’re—” Runaan swallowed, grimacing. “They were my people. My team. My responsibility. It was my duty to accompany them every step of the way. The state of my conscience is irrelevant.”

So he did know it was wrong. Else why would he mention his conscience?

“If it’s any small consolation,” Runaan continued, “I have no intention of attempting to complete my mission. King Ezran has nothing to fear from me. Nor from Rayla. If she hasn’t done it by now, she never will.”

Gren didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. Words strangled in his throat before they could reach his mouth.

“Even though the band will eventually cut off your arm?” he asked once he finally managed to summon speech. 

Runaan nodded.

“And Rayla’s hand.”

That appeared to shake him more than the loss of his own limb. Rayla was important to him, even after she’d betrayed him. 

King Ezran and Prince Callum really were in good hands if she was willing to lose a hand for them. What about Runaan? Had he given up because he knew deep down that it was wrong to murder a child, or because the chances of reaching Ezran in time were too low? 

“I don’t expect you to understand my reasons for acting the way I do,” Runaan said. 

He met Gren’s eyes. Gren grimaced, desperate to look away, but he didn’t dare. Runaan’s gaze was unflinching, silently demanding Gren’s undivided attention.

“I’ll understand,” he continued, “if you’re unwilling to accompany me any further.”

Gren should say something. It was his turn to reply, yet his mouth was dry, the power of speech fled from him. He had decided to stick with Runaan, but he’d never imagined that Runaan’s mission was this heartless. 

Runaan lowered his head, grieved. Disappointed. Bracing himself on the ground, he grabbed his bow and pushed himself to his feet, his legs wobbling under him. Automatically, Gren stood up and reached out to steady him, stopping himself just before making contact. Had Runaan noticed? He must have, for his face tightened further, his mouth set in a somber line. After slinging the bow across his back, he raised his right hand to his heart and bowed down, head low. 

“Thank you for all your help,” Runaan said. “I owe you my life. I won’t forget it.”

And with that, he turned away. He was limping, not anywhere near healthy enough to go off on his own. Most of the day had passed already. The Crownguard would be closing in. Their theft of the boat would have been reported as soon as people knew that there was a manhunt. Runaan wouldn’t make it. 

“Wait!” 

Gren ran in front of Runaan, cutting him off. Runaan stared at him in surprise, a silent question on his face. Gren’s heart thundered, prickling with anxiety, but he couldn’t abandon Runaan back in that cell and he certainly couldn’t do it now.

“Last night,” he said, “I made a decision. I won’t be the one to break the truce between us. And when I make a promise, I keep it. What you did… What you were going to do… That’s in the past. You say that you won’t do it anymore and I believe you. You’re right. I don’t understand how you can do what you do, but I’m not from your world. What I do understand is duty and honor, so I do know what it means for you to give up a mission. Even one that should never have been set. And you’re going to pay an even higher price for it than social opprobrium.”

Runaan glanced down at his arm, pain flitting across his features, which were quickly hushed by the man’s stubborn pride. 

“My sacrifice makes my actions easier for you to accept?”

Gren cringed at the bitterness in Runaan’s voice.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’ll help you return to Xadia. I want to help you. For this to work, we need to not hold grudges about what we did in the past. And you didn’t actually kill Prince Ezran, which is good. Great. So consider it forgiven and forgotten. And there’s one more thing.”

Gren placed a hand over his heart and bowed down like Runaan had done earlier. 

“I couldn’t have gotten out of the castle without you and your illusions. I’m not sure I believe that you’re not a mage. Thank you. Viren might have decided that killing me was easier than locking me up a second time around, so I owe you my life, too.”

The sight that greeted Gren when he straightened up took his breath away. Runaan was gaping at him in astonishment, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide with wonder. Bet he had never expected Gren to help him after all this. Most people probably would have let him walk away. 

And… Runaan was still staring at him. Okay, this was getting awkward. Gren rubbed the back of his head. Could Runaan please say something? 

As soon as Gren opened his mouth to break the silence, Runaan tipped his head forward in an abridged version of his earlier bow, an acknowledgment this time. 

“You truly are an odd person,” Runaan said, but he wasn’t mocking this time. His voice was filled with fascination and curiosity. “I’m glad of it.”

Gren grinned. 

“Thank you, I guess. So, um, we should look around for some berries or something to eat, then we should get going.”

Runaan nodded absently.

“Yes. There is one more thing, though. The dragon prince’s egg. It wasn’t destroyed.”

Gren stared at him.

“What?”

“Rayla and the princes found it. Viren stole it. They showed it to me when they tried to stop me. I didn’t listen.” Gren could swear that there was shame in Runaan’s eyes when he looked away. “We had already bound ourselves. I didn’t see a way to turn back.”

Oh. Right. Yet another bad thing to add to Runaan’s pile, but Gren had already forgiven that.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gren said. “I mean, it does matter, but not for… this. The purpose of our discussion. Anyway, what I said still stands. And the important thing right now is the egg being safe. That’s wonderful. So that’s why the king and prince think they can sway the dragon queen to choose peace. It will work, right? I certainly would.”

The ghost of a smile flitted across Runaan’s face. He shook his head at some inner thought. 

“If your king and prince are as stubborn as you are, I think it might.”

Gren snorted.

“You’re pretty stubborn yourself, you know?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Gren smiled. 

``````````````````

The current helped carry them downstream, yet Runaan was no less uncomfortable at not being able to help Gren row. The man had already done so much more for him than he would have ever considered possible. His thanks had been unexpected. Astonishing. Inconceivable once upon a time. But very welcome. Runaan should have been nicer to Gren from the beginning, not doubted him so much, but everything he knew or thought he did about humans cautioned him to never to put his life in one’s hands. Yet now he was only alive and free because of one. 

He touched the jacket covering his torso, another gift from Gren. He had noticed Runaan shivering in the chilly air and insisted that Runaan should wear it, even though that left him in only a thin shirt, not taking no for an answer no matter how much Runaan argued that, if anything, it should be him taking the less warm garment. Gren was concerned about him, even after learning what Runaan had been prepared to do. Most would have left him to die, or even tried to kill him themselves. Although Gren had been disgusted and angry, he hadn’t ceased being kind and considerate towards him. He was a conundrum. Runaan had thought him naïve, but that was too simplistic. Gren genuinely wanted to do the right thing. He was young, yet he must have seen plenty of bloody conflict at the Breach, so he wasn’t been led by innocent idealism like the new king and his brother likely were. His general certainly wouldn’t agree with his actions. She had killed too many elves for that. Gren spoke of her with great fondness and respect. Yet he was willing to risk losing hers to help an elven assassin. Gren didn’t even approve of the work assassins did. 

Runaan wished Ethari were here. He was much better at figuring out people than Runaan was, and he was a much kinder person himself. Maybe he’d be able to explain Gren to him. Moon, he missed Ethari desperately. Soon, they’d be reunited, if Runaan could stay alive and uncaptured, but that was a febrile prospect at the moment. He had been resigned to his death, as well as subjecting Ethari to the grief of losing him, as much as it broke him to make Ethari suffer such agony. He’d rather turn a knife to himself than subject Ethari to any form of pain. 

But it would be alright now. He’d make sure of it, even if he had to crawl all the way to the Silvergrove. 

Yet Ethari would still be sad for the loss of Runaan’s arm. He wouldn’t view Runaan any differently for it. Of course not. Ethari was too loving a person to do anything other than support and aid Runaan in everything he could while he adjusted to his new condition. 

A shiver of fear ran through Runaan. He’d never be able to shoot an arrow again from the wonderful bow Ethari had given him, or lift Ethari in his arms and watch him laugh as Runaan struggled to carry his much fitter husband all the way up the stairs. Or teach his students everything that they needed to know, if he even had any students after this. He might never be entrusted with a mission again, for the reason why he’d lost his arm would be a stamp of shame. A failed mission. The circumstances were irrelevant. No assassin who lost a limb to an assassin’s ribbon was ever trusted again. He and Ethari might not even be able to stay in the Silvergrove, the only home Ethari had ever known. He had family there. His parents. Siblings. 

Maybe… But how could Queen Zubeia have possibly known that her egg had survived? The humans had made sure to advertise its destruction to cause them the deepest amount of pain. They hadn’t even known the Ezran’s age. But they had known he was a child. According to Gren, that should have been enough. Maybe it was. 

“So,” Gren said.

Runaan raised his head, turning toward him. Gren had noticed his morose mood. He looked like he was struggling to come up with something, anything to distract Runaan. He put so much pressure on himself to help, even in this. 

“You have done more than enough,” Runaan said. “You don’t need to distract me with conversation. I’m fine.”

“Who says I don’t need a distraction, too? And you’re not fine. Not even the most gullible person in the world would believe that. We talked plenty in the dungeon. Why shouldn’t we keep it up now that we’re free? There’s got to be stuff you’re curious about. I’ve caught you looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out.”

And here Runaan had thought that he’d been subtle. His exhaustion must be the culprit. 

“Alright,” Runaan said. “You are a very confusing individual.”

“So you’ve implied many times. You’re not the only one who thinks so.”

“How do you even get away with not engaging in combat in the army?”

Gren smiled in amusement. It was a gentle thing. His facial markings stood out in the sunlight, like a startouch elf’s stars. They were spread all along Gren’s cheeks and nose, in a similar pattern to Runaan’s own. Runaan hadn’t really noticed them last night. No elf he’d ever seen had markings like that. Similar to moles, yet with a far more interesting shape. It was a distinctly human thing, like their rounded ears and their extra fingers. 

“I told you. General Amaya is okay with it.”

“You joined the army solely to be her interpreter?”

“Well, no. I did start out as a regular recruit. Did the full training. Learned all the basic weapons. So don’t think I can’t take you on in a sparring session.”

Runaan huffed a laugh.

“Even with only one arm, I would beat you easily.”

“Oh, really? Actually, I believe you. Let’s not test this theory.”

Runaan smiled, amused. Gren seemed pleased by this. 

“I grew up on a farm,” Gren continued. “My parents are farmers. Their parents were farmers. Etcetera, etcetera. I did my share of the chores fine, but I didn’t want to stay there forever. I felt restless. I didn’t have any grand ambitions or anything. I just didn’t fit. And I wanted to help Katolis, all of it. A farm provides food, sure. That’s important. But I wanted to do something else.”

“You sought this out in the military.”

Gren nodded. 

“Yup. I liked training, mostly. Only…” He frowned, gazing at something unseen in the horizon. “Every time I thought about being in a real battle and having to... To kill someone…” He hung his head, gripping the oar tighter, his rowing faltering. “I couldn’t bear it. It made me sick. I could beat an opponent in a training session, but that wasn’t real. No one would really get hurt.”

_He hadn’t done anything to me. How could I take his life?_

“You thought you could do the job,” Runaan said, “but you’d fooled yourself about the path you were taking.”

Gren looked relieved by Runaan’s response. He nodded eagerly.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rayla had made the same mistake. 

“Is it…” Gren said hesitantly. “I don’t know if it’s okay to ask what you’re thinking right now. It just looks like it got personal there for a second.”

Runaan sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“What happened to you is what happened to Rayla. She thought she wanted to be an assassin, but she couldn’t make the killing blow, either. I shouldn’t have pushed her so hard.”

“Why did she want to become an assassin, then?”

“She wanted to be like me.” A rueful smile stretched Runaan’s lips. “I wasn’t sure whether to encourage her at first, but she wouldn’t let up. Ethari wasn’t sure. Even right before we left, he told me that she wasn’t cut out for this, but she was so determined. She’d worked so hard. Her skills are amazing. I trusted her to know her own mind.”

“It’s not so easy as all that,” Gren said sadly. “I’m sorry it worked out the way it did. You sound very fond of her.”

Runaan focused on the trees passing by, a flock of birds flying overhead, and struggled to control the deep well of guilt clutching at his chest.

“She’s like a daughter to me. We raised her since she was small. Her parents… They were our best friends. When they joined the Dragonguard, they asked us to look after her since they couldn’t take her to the Storm Spire. They were supposed to protect the egg of the dragon prince when King Avizandum was murdered. But they ran away. They abandoned their post, choosing their own safety over their duty. I will never understand why.” 

Runaan’s right hand clenched on the small bench he was sitting on, his jaw aching as he gritted his teeth in fury and incomprehension. It had been months, yet their betrayal didn’t cease to hurt. It went against everything he had ever known about them. They had been the most dedicated, honorable people he’d ever known apart from Ethari. How could they leave the dragon prince defenseless? 

“Oh,” Gren muttered, looking as if he regretted bringing it up. “Poor Rayla. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.”

“She’s been trying to prove herself better than them ever since. That’s why I never, ever considered that she might go back on her word, but she’s still so young. And if she’s still with the egg, then she is making up for her parents’ dishonor. At least she’s guarding the egg, unlike them.”

Runaan winced. The aggrieved tension in his body had tightened the muscles in his left arm, flaring pain up the weakened limb. Gren looked at his arm, troubled, but he didn’t comment on it. 

“It sounds like she found her calling,” Gren said. “That’s something, at least.”

Yes.

“It shouldn’t have happened like this. Not at this cost.”

Why had he wrapped those bands around her wrists? How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t he listened to Ethari? He always knew best when it came to Rayla, to people in general. Runaan was the one who never saw the obvious. Ethari constantly complained about it, and he was right to. This monumental, tragic fuckup proved it.

“It’s going to be okay,” Gren said, leaning forward and reaching out as if wanting to touch Runaan to comfort him, but his arm hovered midway, unsure. “Not right away, obviously. But eventually. You’ll figure it out, both of you.”

Runaan shook his head and stared at the sunlight reflecting off the water, wishing the moon were out instead. 

“How can you be so optimistic all the time? The world is rarely so merciful.”

Gren shrugged. 

“It’s not like I don’t have to work at it. I’ve got my bad moods too. Times when I feel low, that everything is too hard. I wasn’t singing the whole time in the dungeon, as you may have noticed.”

It was difficult not to.

“I simply prefer to hope for the best,” Gren continued. “So I choose to.”

It sounded so easy the way that Gren said it. His expression was so open, so eager for Runaan to be comforted by his gentle philosophy, his enchanting view of a nicer world where old wounds could be healed with kind words. 

“I admire your determination,” Runaan said. “I do. But I’ve seen too much of the world’s cruelty to find it so simple.”

“Well, we’re managing to make it work, all evidence to the contrary.”

Runaan grunted. There was that.


	5. Chapter 5

They traveled on the river until well into the night, then pulled ashore to sleep. Runaan scavenged for berries since his sight was better than Gren’s in the low light. But there were no more Sun’s Tears bushes, so he’d have to endure the throbbing pain in his arm without the pain killing abilities of its flowers. After consuming their meager dinner, they sought the softest spots under the trees to sleep. The cold, once relieved by the sunlight, now returned to plague their barely covered bodies. 

Runaan hesitated before asking. It had never been awkward with his team if the need called for it. Huddling close for warmth was practical, but humans had very odd norms about certain things, or so he thought. Maybe it wasn’t even true. These few days with Gren had disproved many of his old prejudices about human behavior. 

“You know,” Gren said, propped up on his elbow on the ground. “It’s kinda cold.”

Runaan raised a brow at him.

“Strangely enough, I had noticed that. I suggest that we sleep close to each other for warmth. If that’s not a problem for you.”

Gren smiled in relief.

“Not at all. I was going to say the same thing. I didn’t know how you were going to take it.”

“It’s a common practice among elvenkind. How about you?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not. It depends. So, who spoons who? You should probably spoon me. You can prop your arm on me. Unless… I don’t see how it would be less painful if you lied on your left side.”

Runaan looked down at his arm, touching it gently. The spot where the ribbon cut into him twinged.

“I think you’re right.”

He tugged at the end of the belt, unclasping the buckle, and allowed his arm to fall free for the first time in the day. He gasped, eyes shutting from the pull of the swollen muscles. Gren scooted toward him.

“Here,” he said, removing the belt from Runaan’s shoulder. “Let’s just lie down here. Good a spot as any.”

Gathering the weapons in front of him, he lied on his side. Gingerly, Runaan settled down next to him and placed his left arm over Gren’s torso. He grit his teeth the entire time, refusing to cry out, but he couldn’t conceal several winces and gasps. Gren was only an inch shorter than him, so their bodies aligned well, his arm draped over Gren’s own. He tried to shift so that their hands weren’t resting on top of each other, but then his hung lose and that made the pain worse. Gren gently tugged his wrist atop his own again.

“It’s okay,” Gren said. “It’s not weird unless we make it weird.”

Fair point. Gren was supporting his arm, that was all. Nothing else would happen, not without permission. Ethari wouldn’t mind this. Runaan certainly wouldn’t if their positions were reversed. Closing his eyes, he sighed, only realizing that he’d blown a sharp gust of air against Gren’s nape when the other gasped.

“That tickles,” Gren said.

“Sorry,” Runaan murmured, embarrassed.

“It’s okay.”

Chill permeated his back and legs, but Gren’s body warmth soon dispelled some of it. The last person other than Ethari that Runaan had touched like this had been Callisto on a particularly cold night two missions ago after their tents had been lost in a storm. Runaan had spooned Callisto as well. There had been no hair in Runaan’s face then. Callisto had kept his head shaved save for a fringe at the top for the last year. 

Now there were no horns to watch out for. No “Don’t you even think about waking me up just because I’m snoring”. That had only been one time, and it had perfectly justified on the grounds that Callisto’s snores were so loud that anyone who happened to be passing by would hear them. He’d been a brilliant assassin, but those snores had been a real liability. At least they all joked that they were, especially Andromeda. She never let up with her good humored teasing. Rayla liked joining in, too. They had been a good group, keeping each other cheerful and focused as they traversed this inhospitable land. 

But four of them would never see their home again. Their lotuses lay doused and cold at the bottom of the pond, a grim announcement to their families and friends. To Ethari, who might be gazing at Runaan’s and Rayla’s lotuses right now, wondering how long it would take them to come home. If they would return at all. Or if the next time he looked, their lotuses would sink too. 

Runaan swallowed around a painful knot in his throat, his eyes stinging as hot tears slipped down his face, his breath hitching. 

He wouldn’t sob. Gren’s breath was even with sleep, which he desperately needed. Runaan wasn’t going to wake him just because he wished to be comforted. Nothing could change the searing ache wailing deep in his chest as he remembered his friends falling around him, Andromeda with a sword to the face. Ram collapsing with a gut wound. Skor jumping in front of Runaan to take a sword aimed at his back. Callisto yelling at him to go into the king’s chamber, leave him behind to deal with four guards despite blood oozing down his leg. They shouldn’t have died, not all of them, not even any of them if Runaan had just listened to Ethari, if he hadn’t missed the obvious yet again, if he hadn’t been so damn proud that Rayla was following in his footsteps. It was his fault. All his fault. Their blood was on his hands. 

_Forgive me. Please._

```````````````

Runaan was crying. His breath caught painfully, silent sobs gusting out of his mouth onto Gren’s neck, his body trembling against his back, so tense with the effort of holding himself back that Gren almost gave up and let Runaan know that he was awake, that he wasn’t disturbing him by crying. But Runaan probably wanted privacy. He might not appreciate his grief being so public. So Gren stayed still, disguising his breathing so Runaan would think him asleep, even as he itched to stroke the fingers resting against his and reassure him that he didn’t have to carry his pain alone.

``````````````

More rowing ensued the next day until they got too close to the waterfall, then they disembarked, carrying their meager supplies with them. Gren would be ecstatic to never touch another oar ever again. The ache in his back and arms was so bad that he wasn’t sure it would ever stop. At least Runaan was walking better, having gotten plenty of time not chained to a wall. Being close to the moon again probably helped him heal faster as well. 

Except for his arm. It killed Gren that there was no way of severing that damned ribbon. It wasn’t right. All sorts of last minute circumstances changed missions. Why shouldn’t an assassin’s be any different? Like, for example, the dragon prince’s egg not being destroyed, therefore making taking revenge on the prince irrelevant. Yet custom demanded that Runaan and Rayla pay for that misunderstanding by losing their limbs? It was wrong. Disgusting. Gren wasn’t prone to anger, but it burned him up inside that such a vile practice was allowed. Not that he’d tell Runaan that. Despite it being his own arm on the line, he’d probably be offended that a human was questioning his culture, so Gren had no recourse but to fume in private. 

The forest floor soon grew hilly, then mountainous as they reached the edge of a mountain range that was too long to go around. A well traveled footpath cut through it to a city on the other side, but it was precisely its convenience that made it dangerous for two escapees from the king’s dungeon. 

So trudging through thick underbrush and snow it was. Every muscle that had finally decided to take a break from shooting pain at him flared up again. This new path also slowed down their progress considerably, but at least they wouldn’t run into bewildered people who would run away and raise the alarm the moment they saw Runaan. 

They camped for the night in a large enclosure carved into the bare rock of the mountain by years of wind erosion. They had just enough space to rest comfortably. Still no fire, just in case, so they spooned again. Runaan’s arm was more swollen. He tried not to show distress, but the ribbon cut even more tightly now. It wasn’t close to the bone yet, but it was only a matter of time. Once again, Gren swallowed his indignation. What good would it do to vent to Runaan, who felt horrible enough as it was? 

The next afternoon, they breached through the mountains. A city lied at the foot of the hills below, in the shadow of the most infamous mountain in all Katolis, an extinct volcano reputed to be haunted by monsters so horrifying that no one who hiked it was ever seen again. And yet, as soon as he caught sight of it, Runaan smiled like his birthday had come early. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Gren said. 

Runaan nodded at the mountain.

“That’s where we’re going,” he said. 

“To the Cursed Caldera? There are much safer ways of getting to Xadia. This isn’t about you wanting to fight monsters to relax, is it? What are you on about?”

“It’s not haunted. A moon mage lives at the summit.”

Moon magic.

“The monsters are illusions,” Gren said, amazed. “Why? Why does the mage live there? Are they protecting something?”

“That they are. The moon nexus. Moon magic is at its strongest in the lake that fills the caldera. It’s said to be spectacular under a full moon. I’ve always wanted to see it, but since Xadia was divided in two, few moonshadow elves ever have, save for the guardians of the nexus. I never thought I’d see it myself.” 

Runaan smiled sadly. A source of moon magic in the midst of a human kingdom. And Runaan had entrusted Gren with its secret location. He’d wondered if Runaan really trusted him as much as he let on, but this proved it. No one revealed something this precious to anyone they weren’t absolutely certain of. Warmth glowed inside Gren so strongly that he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. 

“But we’re not going to sightsee. We need food and supplies. The mage will help us.”

“Well, she’ll help you. How about me?”

“Don’t worry.” Runaan squeezed Gren’s shoulder, his expression earnest. “I’ll vouch for you. And if they refuse to help you, I won’t stay either.”

Gren’s knees felt gooey. He could barely keep his grin in check now, his stomach doing happy flips.

Huh. That was weird.

“You don’t need to do that because of me,” he said. 

“We are allies, are we not? Allies don’t leave each other high and dry. We make it to the border together or not at all.”

Something painful flared in Runaan’s eyes. It looked suspiciously like guilt. This wasn’t just about Gren. Runaan felt that he’d failed to keep his friends alive. He couldn’t stand to do the same for Gren, to let him down. Gren was part of his team now. Gren could understand that. Gren gripped Runaan’s shoulder in return, finally letting his smile loose.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” he said. 

Runaan smiled back, a momentary, fleeting gesture, but the warmth and genuine caring in it intensified the excitement flitting inside Gren’s bones. 

The happy glow lasted all the way down the slope, across the valley, and up the cursed caldera, which wasn’t scary now that Gren knew it wasn’t actually cursed. Then exhaustion took over again as the climb went on. 

And on. The sun began going down before they were even halfway up, making it harder to see the way, but there wasn’t a lot of underbrush to worry about. The terrain alternated between scattered trees, rocky slopes, and flat, grassy ground. They took a couple of short breaks, but pushed on for far longer than they would have on a regular day. It would be well worth it to reach the nexus before the morning, Runaan said. Up there food awaited, maybe even beds to sleep in. In any case, the monsters that came out at night wouldn’t give them a moment’s rest, even if they were only illusions. 

Speaking of monsters, Gren was surprised they hadn’t seen any yet. He’d expected a griffin to jump out at them as soon as they began to climb, or a giant snake. Something. Maybe the mage was sleeping on the job. Nah, moonshadow elves didn’t do that. They were too dedicated, even to the point of muleheaded idiocy, like wrapping magic ribbons around their limbs to cut them off if they decided to show mercy every once in a while. So any second now, something horrifying should jump out of the shadows. Yup. 

_Ready whenever you are, magic monsters._

A giant leech the size of a ship burst out of the ground and screeched in their faces like a demented banshee. 

“Shit!” Gren screamed, jerking back.

“It’s not real,” Runaan said quickly, grabbing Gren’s shoulder. 

“I know.” Gren winced at how squeaky and timorous he sounded. “You said. But it’s a really good illusion.”

The leech slithered toward them, mouth open wide, still screaming with ravenous fury. Runaan wasn’t pranking him, right? He wasn’t actually about to get eaten, right? Right?! Death by leech would be so humiliating. 

He forced his legs to remain firm on the ground and the whimper shivering in his throat to stay muted as the behemoth rushed toward them, jaws open wide. Leaning down, it shrieked into their faces, blowing a blast of cold air onto them. Runaan’s hand tightened, keeping Gren still. He didn’t so much as shift under the onslaught, looking at the creature with complete lack of fear. Gren tried to follow his example. 

The leech screamed again, but it didn’t advance, didn’t try to eat them. Of course not. It was fake. Its function was to scare people, not eat them. Everything was fine. 

“Do we just,” Gren asked, voice not shaking with relief, because he hadn’t doubted Runaan for a second, really. “Walk around it?”

“Yes. If we ignore it, it should leave us alone soon.”

“Right. Yes. Sounds good.”

Turning away from the leech, they did precisely that, hiking at a leisurely pace, as if they were in absolutely no hurry to get away. The leech yelled again, but it didn’t follow them. Soon they left it behind. Gren caught Runaan glancing at him in amusement, but he was merciful enough not to mention how Gren had almost peed himself despite knowing full well that the leech couldn’t hurt them.

Giant spiders were next. Several of them, along with huge, sticky webs that they had to cut their way through. Then there were the wailing ghosts. The griffin Gren had pictured made an appearance. One of the spiders followed them, as if offended that Gren and Runaan weren’t being suitably terrified by its truly disgusting form, but by that point Gren had stopped freaking out and began having fun with it. They were nearly at the top of the peak when the mage showed up, riding a huge moon phoenix. Gren gaped at it, gobsmacked by the resplendent creature, its feathers a mix of blue hues that shone in the moonlight, tail alight in blue flame which glittered coldly in the darkness. Its talons were large enough to rip them to shreds, but it was so beautiful that Gren stared in awe, unafraid.

“This one’s real, right?” Gren asked Runaan.

Runaan smiled. 

“Yes. It’s real.”

The phoenix landed before them and regarded them with curious eyes as the mage peered at them from its back. She had a ruddy complexion, long, white hair done up in braids at her ears, and an expression than bordered between inquisitive and exasperated. 

“Never,” she said, “ever had I seen elves and humans traveling together, and now I get two groups up the mountain in the same week.”

Gren and Runaan looked at each other, startled.

“Was the elf a moonshadow elf?” Runaan asked, pleading. “A teenage girl?”

The mage’s eyes fixed on Runaan’s ribbon. 

“You’re one of the assassins that came with her to Katolis, aren’t you?”

Runaan nodded, sagging with relief.

“Yes, that’s Rayla.”

“And the humans?” Gren asked, his tiredness evaporating in his excitement.

“Two boys,” the mage said. “Callum and Ezran. And a glow toad named Bait. They came with a human girl and her pet wolf, whom I had met before.”

A huge breath left Gren’s mouth. They were okay. They really were okay.

“They are okay, right?”

“Last I knew, yes.”

“Did they have a dragon egg with them?” Runaan asked.

Lujanne looked surprised.

“So you do know about that,” she said. “They did. That’s why they came here. They had dropped the egg in icy water. It was dying. But the little dragon is fine now. He hatched, safe and sound.”

The dragon prince had hatched. He was okay! Gren huffed in relief, as did Runaan, who drooped forward as if apprehension over this last piece of news had been the only thing keeping him up.

“Oh, thank the moon,” he murmured, shutting his eyes in gratitude.

“I think it’s best if I told you the rest when we’re all sitting down. You two look like you’re about to collapse. Phoe-Phoe can carry us the rest of the way.”

Gren smiled widely. 

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

Moments later, they were off in the air, clinging to a magical bird that Gren never thought he’d see in his whole life. He didn’t know what he was most excited about. Confirmation that the princes were alright, that the dragon prince hatched, or that he was flying. He was flying! On a phoenix! With two moonshadow elves who didn’t want to kill him! Take that, people who thought him ridiculous for not carrying a sword! Well, he did have two now, but they were technically a bow at the moment, so did that really count? 

Also. Elven bow. Which he had been entrusted to carry by the elf who owned it and had been made by his husband. And had he mentioned that he was flying over a sacred moonshadow site? The low light made it hard to see, but he could make out buildings below in elegant, sinuous shapes, no sharp lines like in human cities. Winding footpaths. Tranquil greenery. The caldera lied not far ahead, the moon gleaming on the lake encased in it, the sight resplendent. If only he had elven night sight so he could see it better. 

The thrill of it was so overwhelming that he was vibrating. Runaan tapped Gren’s right arm, which was slung around his waist. Since he only had one functioning arm, Runaan sat in the middle of the saddle. Gren didn’t know if Runaan was reprimanding him for shaking him or if he was diverted by Gren’s childlike excitement. Either way, there was no way that Gren was going to stop grinning, not even after they landed and slid off the phoenix. 

He twirled around to look at everything that he could. A tall, domed building stood before them, a limestone path leading from the entrance to other parts of the complex, dotted with wooden benches and rose bushes. Was the low light tricking his vision, or were the roses blue? Could roses be blue? This was an elven site infused by the primal power of the moon. Why not? 

A laugh stopped Gren in his tracks. Was that… 

Yes. Runaan had laughed. He was smiling at Gren, fondness softening his face, which shone with a soft glow in the moonlight, his body welcoming the proximity to the source of the magic coursing through his spirit. Gren had never heard Runaan laugh before, not even when Gren had cracked some jokes, probably not very good ones, to try to lift him out of his melancholy, even if for a moment. The curious tingle from earlier returned to Gren’s knees, making them weak and lightheaded. 

God, he was hungry. That must be it. Plus, they had just hiked up a mountain, so exhaustion was definitely a factor. Yeah. That explained that. 

Lujanne led them inside the building to a large, circular hall illuminated with fairy lights. Beautiful carvings of animals decorated the columns that surrounded them. Above, long skylights let them see the stars and moon above. The moonlight probably provided all the illumination necessary on a full moon, but it was a sickle now. They sat at a long table with two benches, Gren and Runaan on the same side. 

“You look starved,” the mage said, not unkindly. “How about a nice bowl of noodle soup?”

Thrusting her arms behind her, she pulled out two steaming bowls out of thin air. 

“Is that real food or another illusion?” Gren asked.

The mage giggled.

“Why can’t it be both?” 

She set the bowls in front of them, complete with spoons. It smelled heavenly. Gren’s mouth watered and his stomach gurgled, but he hesitated at the enigmatic answer. Runaan grabbed his spoon and began to eat.

“What is it actually made of?” he asked.

“Grubs,” Lujanne said, sitting in front of them.

Grubs? This delightful aroma of spices and mouthwatering chicken was actually grubs? Gren shrugged.

“I don’t care,” he said, grabbing the spoon. “I’m too hungry.”

He dug in with gusto. Oh dear heavens, these were the best noodles he’d ever had in his life. Who cared if they were actually worms? Great source of protein. They ate silently for a while, both too focused on finally tasting an actual meal (even if it was grubs) to be able to focus on anything else. 

“When did Rayla and the others leave?” Runaan asked once he sated enough to speak.

“Three days ago,” the mage said. 

Three days. They were so close behind them, yet not close enough. 

“I’m Lujanne, by the way,” she continued. “How about you?”

“I’m Runaan.”

“Gren. Pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m human.”

Lujanne smiled knowingly.

“I know humans aren’t all bad. And you do come in the company of an elf, which makes it unlikely that you’re here to raid the place. I take it that in addition to food, you came looking for the children who just left.”

“We didn’t know they had come this way,” Runaan said. “But yes, we are looking for them. Will you tell us what happened?”

As it turned out, an awful lot had happened, not all of it good. Gren and Runaan both tensed when Claudia and Soren came up. Gren had never been able to get a good read on them. They seemed like nice kids, but Claudia was neck deep in dark magic, and they both adored their father as far as he could tell. They had taken their mission to heart. The mission that Gren should have been leading. It wasn’t any consolation at all that even if Viren had allowed him to leave the castle, his kids would have probably disposed of him soon anyway. He could take on Soren, but no way would Gren have been able to stand against Claudia’s magic. But all wasn’t lost. King Ezran, Prince Callum, and Rayla had gotten away with Lujanne and Corvus’s help. There was no telling what fresh trouble they might be in right now, but they had stayed alive so far, and that was comfort enough for Gren. 

For now. He’d start worrying again in a bit, but man, was this a massive weight off his shoulders. 

Plus, the egg was now an adorable baby dragon named Azymondias, Zym for short. Prince Callum had broken a priceless primal stone to allow him to be born (and since when was he a mage?). Upon hearing this part of the story, Gren gently nudged Runaan and said,

“See? Told you he’s a good kid.”

Runaan looked down, pensive, but also a bit chagrined. Gren was getting rather good at reading Runaan’s different versions of quiet brooding. 

“You did,” Runaan acknowledged apologetically. 

But this wasn’t even the most shocking news in Lujanne’s action packed tale. 

“Rayla had one of those ribbons around her wrist,” Lujanne said, studying the one pinching Runaan’s arm. “Zym bit it off.”

Zym had what? Gren turned to Runaan, who was gaping at Lujanne, eyes as wide with hope as Gren’s. 

“He bit it off,” Runaan said, voice faint. “But nothing is supposed to… Rayla’s alright, then? Her hand… It’s okay?”

Lujanne nodded, smiling. 

“She was all healed by the time they left.”

Runaan sagged against the table, head falling forward and his eyes shutting, murmuring, “Thank the moon” under his breath. Grinning with joy and relief, Gren touched his shoulder.

“So we just have to catch up with them,” he said, “and Zym can bite off your ribbon, too. Or can any dragon do it?”

“I don’t know,” Lujanne said. “I didn’t know they could come off either unless the intended target was dead. I suppose if a newborn dragon can do it, any of them should be able to.”

“Great! As soon as we get to Xadia, we’ll ask the first dragon we come across. Unless they wouldn’t like that. I don’t actually know much about dragons.”

“It depends on the dragon,” Runaan said.

He still sounded awestruck, like he couldn’t believe that this was actually real. He reached for the ribbon, stopping just short of touching it, his eyes glassy. With a shivering exhale, he turned away, rubbing his mouth as if to steady himself. 

“We should leave at first light,” he said, hope finally melting his shock. 

“You could,” Lujanne said. “But if you wait for nightfall, Phoe-Phoe can carry you further than you’d be able to get in two days. We’re too far into the night to be worth you going now. Besides, you don’t look like you can travel anywhere until you’ve had a good rest.”

More flying on the phoenix? Really?

“That sounds good to me,” Gren said, excited. “It’d be nice not to walk for once. What do you think?” he asked Runaan.

Runaan nodded.

“I agree. Phoenixes are swift fliers.” He dipped his head at Lujanne. “Thank you for your help. And for helping Rayla and the others as well.”

“Of course.” Lujanne smiled. “Their good kids. If a little loud.” 

She grimaced. Gren and Runaan chuckled. 

“Rayla is certainly a handful,” Runaan said. 

“Ezran and Callum, too,” Gren said. 

“Is that how you speak about your king?” Runaan asked with a sly look.

Gren shrugged.

“He puked all over me when I had to babysit him while he was sick three years ago. I stand by my statement.”

Runaan laughed again. The sound was delightful, so crisp and quietly joyous. Gren could get used to hearing it more often. 

“So,” Lujanne said, looking curiously between the two of them. “Will you be needing one bed or two?”

What? 

Oh! 

Did she think that they… They didn’t look like they were, did they? Runaan was married. Happily married. To someone else.

“Two beds,” Gren said.

“One bed,” Runaan said simultaneously. 

They stared at each other, Runaan frowning in confusion and Gren with his eyes wide, anxiety pooling in his belly, knowing immediately that he’d said the wrong thing.

“Would you rather we slept separately?” Runaan asked, cautious. 

“No. Not unless you want to. I just meant—I thought that you’d rather, since there’s an option now.”

Gren’s cheeks were burning. Why did he have to answer Lujanne’s question? He should have left it up to Runaan, then Runaan wouldn’t be scrutinizing him as if he were questioning every interaction they’d had until now.

“I’ll get you a room with two beds,” Lujanne said, sliding off the bench with an expression that made Gren blush harder. “Just in case.”

“You don’t need to,” Gren called after her, but she walked out the door before he could finish.

Craaaap! 

“Gren.”

Oh, no. That was Runaan’s “unpleasant subject that cannot be avoided” tone. 

“If you’re not comfortable with our sleeping arrangements--” Runaan continued.

“I’m going to stop you right there. I’m fine with it. Really. I assumed that you’d want to sleep on your own since we have actual accommodations for now. I am in no way uncomfortable with sleeping beside you.”

Runaan didn’t look certain whether to believe him. He seemed concerned that he’d done something wrong or that Gren was lying to him to make him comfortable. Oh god. Gren had really messed this up. Why did he have to open his damn mouth? Just because his body felt a bit gooey when Runaan looked at him a certain way didn’t mean that Gren wasn’t totally okay with things continuing exactly the way they were. 

“Are you sure?” Runaan asked.

Gren’s gaze didn’t waver from his.

“I’m sure.”

Runaan’s eyes brightened. Maybe the moon magic emanating from this place was enhancing his natural beauty. It was exactly the wrong thing for Gren to be focusing on, especially now, but Runaan’s worry over Gren’s comfort made his gaze especially compelling. He couldn’t look away. 

“Okay,” Runaan said finally. 

Gren had thought that he’d breathe more easily once he convinced Runaan that he didn’t object to them spooning, but his chest constricted further, the butterflies in his stomach returning like a swarm of locusts dancing frenetically, and he sweated despite the chill. 

_I have a crush on him, don’t I?_

If he were alone, he would have groaned in despair.

``````````````

Runaan couldn’t get comfortable. The bed wasn’t at fault. It was soft and broad, designed for the perfect night’s sleep, but Runaan’s mind was too awake with rambling thoughts. Rayla was okay. The dragon prince had been hatched. Runaan had been wrong about the human princes. He couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to face them again once they caught up with them. How did one apologize for what he’d done? Distrusting them was more excusable, but he had killed their father. In revenge for the murder Harrow had committed, yes, but his sons wouldn’t care about that. Them being Rayla’s friends now, for this was clear from Lujanne’s anecdotes, complicated matters. It was cowardly to hope that Ethari would be at his side to help him navigate the situation, but he was good with people. He knew when to be kind and when to be on his guard, whereas Runaan was always the latter. Being an assassin wasn’t easy, but it made a certain, blunt sense to him. It wasn’t a matter for emotion, but simple, black and white truths. He’d never had to deal with the mourners he left in his wake. He did the job. He left. It was done. In some twisted way, he’d taken to considering the loss of his arm as compensation for his grave error in mistaking Rayla’s kind nature and condemning her to a similar fate. It terrified him, but he’d resigned himself to it like he had to dying in Katolis. As excruciating as it would be, it was what it was.

Yet now he had reason to hope that this ribbon tormenting him might finally come off. He might keep his arm, after all. He could wrap Ethari in a bear hug again, wouldn’t have to subject him to the pain he felt every time that Runaan got hurt, even if it was a simple cut. Runaan had been so frightened for his sake, as much as for his own. 

If he found a dragon in time. If that dragon was willing to grant him the favor, his dishonor aside. Lujanne’s phoenix couldn’t fly them all the way into Xadia. The further the bird flew from the nexus, the weaker she would grow, for she was bound to its magic. Even with the extra ground they covered, they could easily take another week to reach Xadia, and even then, dragons weren’t as plentiful as Gren, in his boundless enthusiasm, imagined them to be. He thought that they’d run into one the moment they crossed the border. And so they might, but they probably wouldn’t. 

Also, before tonight, Runaan had assumed that Gren would turn north for the Breach when they reached the border, yet he had just said that both of them would go into Xadia, together. Runaan hadn’t asked him about it yet. Gren didn’t imagine he’d accompany Runaan as some sort of human ambassador, did he? No, he must be following the king and the prince. He wished to complete his mission. Either way, Runaan would be most grateful for his continuing company and aid. 

Bringing a human into Xadia. Who would have ever thought that he’d ever want to do such a thing? Ethari would be speechless. 

Runaan smiled into his pillow, imagining their coming reunion. First, Ethari would drop whatever he was doing, then run toward Runaan, who might actually have two arms to greet him. He’d want to hug him tightly enough to squeeze the air from Runaan’s lungs, but he’d hold himself back from doing so in case Runaan was injured, then clasp his head with eager hands and kiss him with all the love that beat in his dear heart. Runaan yearned for his touch so fiercely that he ached, his heart heavy in his chest.

As if jealous of Runaan’s straying thoughts, his arm chose that moment to twinge sharply, making him wince. There were times when he could feel the band tightening, strangling a bit more of his flesh. He fluffed up the pillows he’d tucked under his arms more, but they weren’t as good a support as Gren’s body. After their misunderstanding earlier, Runaan had insisted that they sleep in the separate beds. Gren might be lying about being okay with their arrangement. Runaan didn’t think he was, but he didn’t want to take the chance when, as Gren said, other options were available. Yet upon hearing Runaan’s discomfort, Gren turned over on his bed, which stood a couple of yards away, and sat up. Runaan swallowed a groan, kicking himself. 

“Gren, you don’t have to.”

“I know that. I want to. Now get rid of those pillows.”

It was impossible to get a good look at his face in the dim light, but his tone brooked no argument. Gren may have accused him of being stubborn, but he was unmovable enough himself when he got an idea in his head. Sighing, Runaan gingerly raised his arm and pushed the pillows away. Gren grabbed them and put them on the other bed, then slid below the covers, slowly, jostling the mattress as little as possible. They slid into the position that was becoming so familiar, Runaan’s arm resting atop Gren’s own, fingertip to fingertip. It would be a perfect alignment if it weren’t for Gren’s extra finger. He’d caught Gren stealing a glance at his hands once in a while. Runaan didn’t mind. He found the number of digits on Gren’s hands equally odd and fascinating. 

He brushed that little finger as he got settled. Not on purpose. 

Perhaps a little on purpose. If Gren noticed, he didn’t comment on it. Runaan distracted himself by thinking about it for a bit, along with Gren’s rounded ears and his hornless scalp. Runaan’s breath evened out, the pain in his arm lessening to acceptable levels. The chamber was warm enough, so the secondary purpose of needing to share body heat wasn’t necessary, but he found it comforting all the same. The simple pleasure of elf touch. Well, human touch in this case. It soothed him. He really hoped that Gren was genuine about not minding this. He was a wretched liar, so he probably didn’t. Every time Runaan had suspected Gren of dishonesty, he had been wrong, so he needed to stop worrying about it and rest. Gren’s breath was already deep in sleep, a pleasant lullaby. 

Runaan shut his eyes, unconsciously leaning into Gren’s hair, imagining the brilliant smile on Ethari’s face when he finally came home.

```````````````

The moon nexus was the most amazing place Gren had ever been in. Was all moonshadow architecture this graceful and soothing to look at? The entire complex, and it was a sizable one, was built of white stone designed to blend in with the nature around it. Despite his legs’ preference for remaining seated while he had the chance, he couldn’t help but wander the stone paths and gently shaded hills while admiring the intricate carvings reaching up to the sky. Unfortunately, except for a few intact buildings, the complex was in ruins. Not through neglect, but by design. After Xadia had been partitioned during the humans’ banishment, it was considered too dangerous to keep the nexus intact. Lujanne had conjured a vision of the past for him and Runaan to see a glimpse of what it was like in the old days. Moonshadow elves gathering to pay tribute to the moon and indulge in its magic, dancing the night away under the light of a full moon, translucent in its rays. This had been their most important site. It still was, but very few elves ever got to experience it. 

Lujanne’s face fell as she explained this, and Runaan’s darkened. Gren took half a step back, remembering Runaan’s resentment at the dungeon. This beautiful place had been destroyed to protect its magic from humans. Gren’s people. He shouldn’t be here. He had no right to it. 

“I’m sorry that happened,” he said, his voice low, the apology woefully insufficient.

Runaan closed the distance between them, fixing him with a firm, yet gentle look. 

“I know you are,” he said softly, his earlier recriminations replaced by quiet acknowledgment. 

Gren’s mouth went dry. He held his gaze a moment longer before looking away, too embarrassed and awkward to maintain his gaze. He wasn’t sure why. The moment. The location. His continued understanding of the gulf that divided their peoples. The flutter under his skin that arose every time Runaan looked at him. 

He shouldn’t be feeling this way. It wasn’t wrong, but it was certainly hopeless and would only bring him misery. But that ship had sailed, hadn’t it? He’d enjoyed spooning Runaan last night way more than he should have. 

It was friendly. That’s all that it was. It was perfectly nice as a friendly cuddle. If elves really engaged in them as much as Runaan claimed, then there was nothing untoward about it, nothing for Ethari to complain about. But Gren certainly couldn’t tell him anything about how he was feeling, like wanting to kiss him or yearning to thread their fingers together last night. Not that it would have been a good idea anyway, given the state of Runaan’s left hand, but that wasn’t the point. The point was…

Gren was doomed. Unrequited attraction sucked. This morning, after they had both bathed for the first time in forever, Runaan had asked Gren to help him comb and braid his hair. His very long, very soft, amazing silver-white hair. Which was slightly less appealing with all the tangles and bits of sticks and leaves knotted into it from sleeping on the forest floor. And detangling it had been a nightmare. But it had still been heavenly to brush his fingers through it. Runaan couldn’t ask Lujanne to do it, he’d said. They’d just met. You didn’t ask someone you had just met to brush your hair. A friend, on the other hand, was all well and good. 

A friend. Gren had taken advantage of his position behind Runaan to grin like a child upon seeing a puppy. It wasn’t like it was shocking news or anything. Everything about the way that Runaan acted towards him since he’d stopped being so pigheaded about distrusting him signified that he considered Gren a friend. But it was still nice to hear it out loud. 

Here, in the midst of the nexus ruins, his friend assumed that Gren’s reticence and discomfort was due to the circumstances that had reduced them to this state, and not anything as inconvenient as wishing that he could pull Runaan into a hug and kiss him. The excuse was terrible, but Gren was glad it was there. 

Preparing for the journey provided some distraction. Runaan had a proper sling now. Lujanne had also given them sufficient food for a few days, leather satchels to put them in, and a salve for Runaan’s arm. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need it for too long. Thankfully, Lujanne had a shirt and jacket close enough to Runaan’s size lying around, if a bit tight, but they would keep him warm. The jacket was a dark blue with white trimming. It brought out the brilliant teal of his eyes, making them even more captivating, which Gren hadn’t thought was possible. He wrenched his gaze away, swallowing the flush already cresting in his ears, but the next thing they did after making sure they were ready, their last activity at the nexus, didn’t help one bit.

Time was pressing, but they couldn’t leave without sparing a couple of minutes to view the sickle moon reflected on the calm waters of the lake that was the nexus itself. This was what Runaan had most yearned to see. Last night, they had been too exhausted to climb up to the peak to view it. Pity it wasn’t a full moon, yet it was still a magnificent sight. The water shone like a mirror, reflecting the soft violets and bright stars of the night sky above, the moon a sharp curve in its center. A gentle breeze blew past them, bringing with it the scent of blooming flowers and the chittering of crickets. It was the most peaceful Gren had felt in ages. He breathed in deep, imagining that he could inhale a wisp of the moon magic surrounding him even if humans weren’t meant for such things. At his side, Runaan looked pensive, his initial tranquil expression sinking into the heavy sorrow that Gren was too familiar with. Gren considered asking him what he was thinking about, but refrained. 

Yet despite his uneasiness on Runaan’s behalf, he couldn’t help but be struck by how utterly and maddeningly beautiful Runaan looked bathed in the light of the moon, his primal source. His skin shone with a gentle glow, his blue-green eyes growing even more vibrant, the purple markings sweeping along his nose and cheeks incandescent for just a moment, his body absorbing the energy of the moon, revitalized by it, standing straighter, showing his strength, his hair a brilliant sail of white at his back, strands straying from the braid that Gren had woven, kissing the contours of his face. Gren regarded him from the corner of his eye, breathless, heart beating loudly in his chest, floored and flattered and awed at his beauty, this magnificent elf from his childhood stories, only he wasn’t cold like they said. Not cruel. Not malicious. He was warm and just and honest. Kind. Loyal to a fault. Honorable. Willing to die to protect others, especially those he cared about, without hesitation. Open to admitting when he’d been wrong, despite how stubborn he could be. Of all the people Gren had ever met, only Amaya could compare. 

Runaan reminded him of her quite a bit, now that he thought of it. He doubted that either of them would appreciate the comparison, but it was true nonetheless. 

Much too soon, Lujanne and Phoe-Phoe joined them, the phoenix saddled and carrying their packs. Wishing that they could stay longer, Gren turned away from the lake and mounted the phoenix, Runaan sitting behind him. He gripped Gren by the waist so he wouldn’t fall, his injured arm pressed between them. After quick thanks and good-byes, they were off into the sky, leaving the nexus far below.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Gren said as he watched the ruins and the lake melt away in the distance. “It was an honor.”

“You’re very welcome,” Runaan said, the warmth in his voice a cherished counterpoint to the chill of the wind.


	6. Chapter 6

The magical feel of the nexus faded as they flew away from it, leaving Runaan feeling oddly sorrowful, like when the moon hid behind the clouds, only much stronger than that. And yet with the moon being so close to new, this was only a fraction of the power the nexus could achieve. Oh, to be here under a full moon, Ethari by his side, to dance away the night with the sweet grace of their primal source singing in their veins, the wonder that they had been denied when Xadia was split in two. His anger over this incalculable loss ran deep, but he’d reigned in his resentment for Gren’s sake. The sadness in Gren’s face when Lujanne revealed the truth that humans of his generation never knew about had touched Runaan. He had been a fool for believing that humans could never feel sympathy for elves. Runaan had certainly never been sympathetic himself, something which he was determined to remedy with Gren. 

His regret at leaving the nexus was relieved by the ground they covered atop Phoe-Phoe. By the time dawn glimmered around them, they had traveled further than they could have in three days. She wanted to keep going, but her strength would drain quickly during the day, and she had to fly back home before she could rest in safety. After much cajoling, she set them down on a sparse woodland. Runaan and Gren rubbed her neck as they thanked her. She responded with a loud chirp and softly nibbled their fingers in affection before spreading her wings and taking off. 

“Wow,” Gren murmured as they watched her disappear behind the trees. “I still can’t believe I rode a real phoenix.”

“It’s a first for me, too,” Runaan said, smiling softly. “You’ll see many more amazing creatures when we get to Xadia.”

They walked for a little while, but their eyes soon began to close since they hadn’t slept all night, so they camped for the rest of the morning. After too short a rest, they were back on their feet. They camped again at night, then the next. By the morning of the third day after leaving the nexus, the ribbon was so tight that it broke Runaan’s skin. Gren fused over the blood oozing from the wound and patched him up with a spare bit of cloth. Runaan chewed more Sun’s Tears leaves to manage the pain, but it barely held it at bay as his arm jostled with every step he took. Gren readjusted the sling, binding Runaan’s arm to his torso so it would move as little as possible. It helped, but it might not be enough. They were several days away from Xadia. Hoping to reach it in time might be no use. If the ribbon reached his bone, there would be no saving his arm.

“We’ll get there,” Gren assured him. “Don’t get pessimistic on me now. It will be okay. You’ll see.”

Runaan alternated between being grateful for Gren’s optimism and wanting to grumble at him to shut up, but he kept quiet, trudging on until his legs wouldn’t function anymore and they settled down for the night. 

A cry and jostle awoke him. Runaan opened his eyes, instantly on his guard. It was night. Gren had shoved against him, sitting up. He had screamed, and Runaan immediately saw why. They had camped beside a creek, half hidden by the trees, but someone had found them. On the opposite bank sat a massive dragon, their long neck stretching across the river to stare at them. Their hide was covered in fur, thin through most of its body and long at the top of its head like a bird’s crest, a mass of black and pale lavender covered in sparkling spots forming constellations. A star dragon. Runaan hadn’t heard of one being seen in his lifetime. The dragon tipped their head to the side, as if considering whether to eat them or not. Rising to his feet, Runaan rushed in front of Gren, blocking him from the dragon. Gren grabbed Runaan’s waist, trying to move beside him, but Runaan shoved him back. Raising his right hand, his left arm useless at his side, he met the dragon’s silver eyes. 

“I’m Runaan of the moonshadow elves,” he said. “I came on a mission from Queen Zubeia. I beg you, please don’t harm us.”

For a moment, the dragon did nothing, then they swept their head above Runaan towards Gren. Runaan swiveled, covering Gren as much as he could.

“Fascinating.”

Runaan and Gren shuddered. The dragon’s voice engulfed their senses, yet sounded as soft as starlight, but there was nothing gentle about it. 

“An elf protecting a human,” the dragon continued, sounding amused. An amused dragon could be as dangerous as an irate one. “I haven’t seen that since before Xadia was split in two.”

The dragon was over a thousand years old. Even more dangerous. 

“The human has been kind to me,” Runaan said. “We are friends.”

“Friends? Tell me, little one, are you the one who killed the king that has this land so riled up?”

The dragon dipped their nose towards Runaan’s arm, taking a deep sniff. It took all of Runaan’s strength to keep from trembling. 

“I did,” he said. 

“Your human friend is a traitor, then.”

“I’m no traitor,” Gren said, pushing past Runaan to stand beside him. 

Panic swelled inside Runaan as the dragon turned their attention towards him, sniffing his hair. Gren gasped, but didn’t move. 

“The throne has been usurped,” Gren said. “I serve the true king of Katolis, who wants to make peace between humans and elves.”

The dragon turned back towards Runaan’s ribbon.

“Zubeia sent you to kill the king and his heir,” they said. “I wondered if she would take revenge. But the son still lives, I see. There’s a greater story here.”

The dragon sounded intrigued. Perhaps they might be persuadable.

“There is, mighty dragon,” Runaan said.

He and Gren flinched as the dragon flicked their tail in annoyance.

“No flattery,” they said. “I’ve never had any use for it. It’s tedious. But I wish to hear your tale. It sounds most entertaining.”

The dragon lowered its forepart on the ground, getting comfortable. Runaan and Gren exchanged a cautious look. Gren was scared, but he was putting on a brave face. 

“Of course,” Runaan said amiably to the dragon. “It would be my pleasure.”

He didn’t leave anything out. Dragons were experts at detecting lies. Being caught in one might be deadly. Gren chimed in as well, his voice only quavering slightly, which was better than Runaan had done the first time he had met a dragon as a youth. The dragon continued to stare at them throughout, a good sign that they were indeed entertaining them. They even laughed at the part when Runaan had transformed the water in the air into bats, wagging their tail lazily. 

“What a wonderful story,” the dragon said at the end, delighted. They chuckled. “So much fun. I can always count on your species to entertain with cheap dramatics, but this is a refreshing change of pace. So Zubeia will get her child back. That should cheer her up. She’s been so down in the dumps lately, poor thing. So tragic.”

It was impossible to tell whether the dragon’s sympathy was sincere or not. Their tone danced between playful and coy. Runaan couldn’t help but notice that the dragon had yet to refer to the queen by her title. 

“Since the dragon prince lives,” Runaan said carefully, “the second part of my mission is moot. Once her son is returned, I’m sure the queen will change her mind about killing Ezran.”

“Are you? Know her personally, do you?”

Runaan swallowed. Had this dragon met her? It sounded like it.

“We’ve met several times.”

The dragon looked off towards Xadia, considering.

“You’re probably right. She is the merciful type.” The dragon turned back towards them and leaned back in, eyeing Runaan’s arm up close. Gren tensed at his other side, looking ready to jump in from of Runaan at a moment’s notice. 

“That looks painful,” the dragon said, sounding serious. 

“It is. Would it be too much of an imposition for you to remove it?”

“Remove it? Me?”

“The dragon prince removed the ribbon from another assassin. He bit it off.”

“Huh. Well, if a tiny baby can do it… Hold still.”

Runaan’s breath froze. Gren gripped his right arm, both of them frozen in shock and uneasy anticipation. He hadn’t expected to convince the dragon so quickly. Yet they were opening their mouth, slowly lowering a fang towards his arm. Breathing deeply, he willed himself to be as calm and still as possible, focusing on Gren’s hand on his arm rather than the spear-like tooth brushing it. The band had constricted so much that even this gentle touch traced a cut in his skin as the tooth slipped under it and yanked. Runaan yelped, pain ripping through him. Gren wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

Then the pressure was gone. His arm throbbed, blood flowing down his elbow from a long, thin cut, but the ribbon lied on the floor, torn in two. It was off. The ribbon was actually off. Gren gasped, his hold tightening. Runaan grabbed his shoulder, staring at the bloodied band, panting, incredulous.

“There you are,” the dragon said, raising their head. “Although I’m not sure if you will be as good as new.”

A deep, angry grove rounded Runaan’s arm where the band had squeezed, but it didn’t matter. The muscle would heal. He’d recover. He wouldn’t lose his arm.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m immensely grateful.”

“Yes,” Gren said, grinning as he pressed a cloth to the cut. “Thank you so much.”

The dragon dipped their head a fraction, then raised their chin, preening.

“It would have been horribly unfair for you to lose your arm for the sake of revenge for someone who isn’t even dead. Honestly, those ribbons you assassins wear are so dramatic.”

“That’s what I said,” Gren said. “Well, something like that.”

Runaan was too shocked and relieved to process Gren agreeing with an archdragon over his assassin bands. 

“So,” the dragon said, lowering their head again. “You’re going to Xadia. Both of you?”

“We are,” Gren said, frowning as he tied off the bandage. “Is that a problem?”

The dragon shook their head.

“I don’t care if humans or elves crawl all over each other’s lands. It’s all the same to me. And I’ve taken a liking to you. You looked so cute all cuddled up together. And look at that hair.”

The dragon’s tail came rushing towards them. Runaan flinched, but it gently tousled Gren’s hair, petting him as if he were an adorable pet. Was that what the dragon saw them as? Cute animals to coddle? As long as it kept them alive, Runaan wasn’t inclined to be picky about it. The dragon lowered its tail and immediately swept up their packs and yanked them away.

“Wait!” Runaan called. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to Xadia,” the dragon said as if it were an immensely stupid question. “Don’t tell me you’d rather walk.”

Runaan and Gren shared a startled look. Gren shrugged, although he didn’t look happy about climbing atop a terrifying dragon whose motivation to help them seemed to be that they found them cute. But it would eliminate over a week of travel, during which they ran the high risk of being intercepted by humans who would merrily try to kill Runaan, maybe Gren also for accompanying him. If they ran across government agents, it would be even worse. Sucking in a fortifying breath, Runaan turned to the dragon.

“You honor us with your assistance,” Runaan said, bowing his head.

The dragon sighed, the gush of air so loud that they both flinched back.

“What did I say about flattery?” they said, sounding exhausted by the whole thing.

Runaan tensed even further.

“I didn’t intend it as such,” he said quickly. 

The dragon twitched its tail in imperious dismissal.

“Never mind. You’re welcome. I was on the way back, anyway.” They lowered their tail before them, dangling it before them. “Grab on.”

Runaan had met dragons since he was grown, but never had he been allowed to ride one. It wasn’t disrespectful if the dragon offered, but this entire situation was so sudden and bizarre that he gripped the tail with immense care. Gren followed his stead. As soon as they had a secure hold, the tail rose and curled in on itself, encasing them in fierce muscle that could crush them in a second. Gren yelped. Runaan almost did so himself, clutching the tail with his legs even though there was no chance of falling off. The dragon soon deposited them onto their back. They scrambled for the packs, hoisting them at their backs before grabbing the dragon’s fur. This was a far cry from ridding Phoe-Phoe with her saddle and back slender enough for them to straddle easily. It was like sitting on a plush carpet, except that the carpet was cold and hot at once, rose gently with massive breaths, and sparkled like moonlight on a rivulet. 

“Hold onto me,” Gren said, scooching against him sideways so Runaan could mostly avoid his backpack. Careful of his left arm, Runaan wrapped his right around his torso. 

“Everyone comfy?” the dragon asked. 

Runaan had no idea how to answer that. Thankfully, the dragon didn’t wait for a reply before standing up and spreading its massive wings. Runaan tightened his grip as the motion jostled him and Gren together, while Gren cursed under his breath. With a jump into the air that shuddered through their bones, the dragon took flight. They rose much faster and further up than on the phoenix, the trees they had sheltered under soon no more than splashes of muted color beneath them. Cold wind buffeted them one moment only to be blocked the next by the dragon’s wings. Gren lied down, tugging Runaan along with him to try to avoid the worst of it. It was the most unpleasant form of transportation Runaan had ever experienced. But that didn’t matter. His ribbon was off and they were rushing towards Xadia. To Ethari and Rayla. 

A week’s long journey shrank into mere hours as the dragon carried them to the edge of Katolis and into Xadia.


	7. Chapter 7

Three green gemstones gleamed on the face of the tiny, metal nightfox on the work table. Ethari raised it close to his face, inspecting every detail of the figurine in the bright, overhead light. He’d crafted the fox out of silver wire in a sitting position, its head high, listening for prey in the underbrush, it’s fluffy tail an elegant array of black wire held out behind it. A touch of black adorned the top of its head as well, matching the real animal’s coloring. Satisfied, Ethari brought the figure upstairs to their bedroom and placed it on the bedside table, where it would await Runaan’s return. 

For Runaan would return. Ethari would not allow himself to think otherwise for more than the few, agonizing seconds of intrusive thoughts that assaulted him every time that he gazed at Runaan’s and Rayla’s lonely lotuses floating on the pond outside the house. He did so now, looking on from the window. Just like every time he had done so in the past two weeks, the two metal flowers lied nest to each other, the lights at their centers a steady green and blue. The other four had sunken beneath the water on the night of the full moon. 

Callisto. 

Andromeda.

Ram. 

Skor. 

Runaan’s most trusted assassins. Their friends. They were dead. The mission had claimed them. 

Ethari’s breath jerked, eyes stinging. They all knew that this was a very real possibility, especially in a human kingdom, where everyone despised them, but they had dared hope that maybe, just maybe, no one would fall. And even if anyone did, Ethari had never envisioned four of them could die. Four! How could the human forces kill four? Had they been forewarned somehow? Runaan and his people were always so careful, making sure that they had the advantage of surprise. They could sneak in and out of anywhere without anyone noticing, especially under a full moon. Something must have gone wrong. 

But Runaan and Rayla were alive. He focused on that. They would come home and tend their friends’ memorials along with him, for they would need to mourn as well. Runaan would be stoic about it, like he always was, clutching his pain deep within so no one else could see it. Only with Ethari did he let it out, but only after months of Ethari coaxing him to let go after they married, assuring him that it wasn’t healthy for him to close himself off like this. He could keep his guard up with everyone else if need be, but their home was safe. Nothing could hurt him here. _Please let me in, my love._ And Runaan had, unveiling years of hurt and grief over lost fellows in short, burning gasps. Ethari had ached from the pain of it, regretting pushing so hard at times, but in the end, he’d been glad. Runaan had grown calmer, softer, stronger, his cold mask on a mission easier to bear once he could take it off at home. 

Rayla’s mental state worried Ethari more. She wasn’t meant for this life. Ethari didn’t pretend that he was always correct, but he knew in his bones that Rayla didn’t possess that instinct that Runaan spoke of, that ability to close one’s self off to the kinder feelings in oneself and end a life. Ethari didn’t have it himself. He barely understood it. Runaan made it make a cold, effective form of sense. It wasn’t lacking in moral compunction or the weight of conscience. An assassin wasn’t allowed to perform the role if it was suspected that they enjoyed killing. It was a duty. A necessity. Like Ethari making weapons. He killed as well. He may not will the blades or the bows himself, a mere middle man, but he certainly facilitated it. Moonshadow assassins and soldiers possessed the finest weapons from his forge. He was always researching new techniques to make them stronger, lighter, more versatile. 

Deadlier. 

His motive may be to protect the wielder, his people, his friends. His husband. But the end result was the same. And he didn’t regret it, not for one second. 

He had made Rayla the most beautiful butterfly blades. Elegant and efficient, everything she would need to stay alive. And so she had. But if she had indeed killed with them, would the same little girl who’d left return? 

Shaking himself loose of his spiraling thoughts, Ethari returned to the forge. He worked until his muscles were sore and the knives he’d been repairing for the local guard were rebalanced and free of nicks. Stepping outside the forge, he stood on the steps and stretched, easing some of the strain on his aching back. He wasn’t usually so tired by early afternoon, but he had awoken in the middle of the night, and the thought of lying in bed with the grief squeezing in his chest made him want to scream, so he’d gotten up and gone down to the forge to distract himself with work. He’d rather keep working than continue to stand here, both seeking and avoiding the pond, the former for the two lotuses that floated on it and the latter for those that didn’t. But he needed a break. It would make things worse if he overstrained himself and wasn’t able to work at all, not only for his mental state, but for the sake of the community he served. As master craftsman and weaponsmith, he couldn’t slack in his duties. His siblings had forced him to take a couple of days off when their friends’ lotuses sank. He’d only acquiesced because he kept zoning out while working on a piece, rendering him all but useless. That, and they had threatened to bar the forge door until Ethari saw sense and gave up. 

Now he was present enough to work properly, so work he would. Still, he must rest on occasion.

However, staying in his all too quiet house was agony, so he set off on a walk. He could go down to the market, see the new wares, and share some pleasant conversation. 

The weight in his chest dictated otherwise. Socializing was too onerous right now. But walking helped. Staying in motion. Soon he was past the wards that kept the Silvergrove hidden. The perpetual twilight that permeated the city vanished abruptly, revealing a bright sun beaming down from a blue sky filled with white, fluffy clouds. Different birds chirped around him, ones that weren’t connected to the moon like the ones native to the Silvergrove. A moon moth flew past him, melting into the invisible ward. Most creatures could wander in and our with impunity, those whom they needn’t fear would harm them. Breathing in the warm air, he nudged his legs forward, ambling beneath the trees sprawling above him. He let the sounds and sights of the forest wash over him, seeking to dispel his sorrow by observing the way a branch curved from its trunk, bifurcated, and spread as many leaves as possible to reach the sun. He followed his study down to a single leaf, charting its stem, the distinctive, undulating edges, and the missing patches that had become an insect’s dinner. For a moment, he was free from any thought more complicated than color and shape. 

Then he’d step away, and the sadness returned. He focused again, this time on a squirrel running across the ground, crackling sticks and leaves in its wake. 

He lost his concentration again as soon as the squirrel was gone. 

So it continued in an unending cycle. Until he heard approaching voices. He hid behind a tree, reaching for the knife he’d sheathed on his belt. He wasn’t likely to use it, but Runaan insisted that he be armed whenever he left the protection of the Silvergrove, just in case. Ethari wasn’t the best at combat, in any case. Runaan had taught him some basic moves, but he’d much rather not get into a fight if he could possibly avoid it. 

He soon ceased crouching in wait, for one of the voices was Rayla’s. 

They had returned! But whose was the other voice? He didn’t recognize it. They were young. A teenager. He didn’t hear Runaan, but that wasn’t surprising. He was probably listening to what the others were saying. Why would they have brought someone else with them, though? 

Leaving his hiding place, Ethari hurried through the trees, too excited to even try to be quiet, which wasn’t his forte anyway. 

“Wait,” he heard Rayla hiss, on her guard.

Ethari grinned. She had heard him bumbling through the forest. She’d have her blades out, eyes narrowed, watching and listening like Runaan had taught her. Ethari finally glimpsed her through the trees, exactly as he’d pictured her. A strange boy was with her. No Runaan. Odd. 

“It’s okay, Rayla,” he called out right before he showed himself. “It’s me.”

When he emerged from the trees, she lowered her blades, face brightening in happy surprise.

“Ethari!” 

She launched herself at him with all the energy and enthusiasm that a fifteen-year-old girl possessed. A relieved laugh bubbled in Ethari’s throat, his eyes stinging as he hugged her. She was home. Safe. Finally!

“How are you?” Ethari asked as they broke apart, looking her over, checking for injuries, relieved to not find any. “You look well. Were you injured? How do you feel?”

Too many questions. Ethari kicked himself, but he couldn’t help but worry, especially when Rayla’s face fell. 

Oh, no. He pulled her close again.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he said, voice thickening. “They were prepared for it. They all knew what might happen. I know that doesn’t help, but—”

“What are you talking about?” Rayla asked, pulling away and staring up at Ethari with fear. 

Ethari frowned, confused. 

“Are they…” Rayla asked, voice breaking. “Are they dead?”

She didn’t know? How could she not know? What in the name of the moon had happened?

“Callisto. Skor. Andromeda. Ram. Their lotuses sank.”

Rayla gasped, hands flying to her mouth in aggrieved shock.

“Runaan?” 

Her voice shook, tears in her eyes. Fear flooded Ethari.

“He’s not with you? His lotus is afloat. I just saw it. Rayla, what happened?”

The strange boy hovered at the edge of his vision, but Ethari barely paid him any attention. Runaan would have reprimanded him, insisting on the importance of being aware of your surroundings at all times, but Ethari wasn’t a warrior, and Rayla was crumbling before him, tears streaming down her face.

“I failed them,” she said, heartbroken. “A scout saw us. I was supposed to kill him. But I… I couldn’t.”

Ethari’s heart seized. Why hadn’t Runaan listened to him? Why?! 

“They knew you were coming,” he said, the words aching on his tongue as he spoke them.

Rayla hung her head, nodding. Ethari grasped her shoulders.

“I don’t blame you for not being able to take a life,” he said. “I told Runaan before you left, that you don’t have the heart for this kind of work. I should have insisted that he not take you.”

“I would have gone anyway. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“They died because of me.”

“Rayla, listen to me. It’s our job to protect you, to know what’s good for you. We failed you. Come here.”

He pulled her into a hug, which she returned with a sobbing desperation that crushed his heart. His eyes closed, failing to push back his own tears. 

“I don’t think the others would agree with you,” she sniffed. “They were so angry.”

A swell of protectiveness rushed through Ethari. He shook his head.

“They would have understood eventually. It will be okay, I promise. But Rayla… Where is Runaan?”

They separated again. Rayla brushed tears off her cheeks, her eyes puffy. 

“I don’t know,” she said. 

The tightness in Ethari’s chest clenched so suddenly that it nearly choked him.

“The last time I saw him,” Rayla continued, “he was in the castle, on his way to kill the king. He’d ordered me to stay away, to come home after they were done if they didn’t come back. But I couldn’t wait. Ethari, I found something.” She turned towards the boy, harried. “We found it.”

For the first time, Ethari took a good look at the boy, who stood back shifting on his feet, hands thrust in his pockets, looking very uncertain, even scared of Ethari. There were twigs tied to his head on a band that covered his ears. His short ears. A human? Rayla had brought a human into Xadia?

“This is Callum,” Rayla said quickly. “He’s my friend. Callum, this is Ethari.”

The boy, Callum, stepped forward, arms and legs swinging in an exaggerated march, and bowed low.

“Trees to meet you,” he said. 

Did he just… Yes, he really did just say that. He was pretending to be an earthblood elf, wasn’t he? It wasn’t much of a disguise, and earthblood elves never said anything so corny, but Ethari didn’t want to be rude, so he bowed back.

“Trees to meet you, too,” he said, ignoring how silly the words were.

“Don’t humor him,” Rayla grumbled, rolling her eyes.

At least she looked a little less sad. 

A soft mewl caught his attention. Callum rushed back to pick up something from behind a bush.

“This is Zym,” Rayla said.

A baby dragon appeared in Callum’s hands. The little being ducked his head shyly as he was presented, peering at Ethari with cautious eyes. He was blue with a white mane, the exact image of a young sky dragon. 

“The egg of the dragon prince wasn’t destroyed,” Rayla continued. “We found it in the castle.”

The dragon prince. This was him. The wee baby lived. 

“I don’t believe it,” Ethari breathed, hope flaring in his chest as he smiled.

He held out a gently closed fist for the dragon to sniff. The baby did so, showing his approval by licking Ethari’s knuckles, his expression shifting from suspicious to delighted in a second. Ethari grinned wider, his grief receding for a moment as joy took its place. 

“It’s a miracle,” he said. 

“Lord Viren kept the egg to use as a weapon,” Callum said. “He’s a dark mage.”

Ethari shuddered internally. Every elf recoiled at the thought of one of those death mages. 

“We found it in his workroom,” Rayla said. “Callum, Ezran, and me. Ezran is Callum’s brother.”

Ethari would have assumed that the name “Ezran” was a coincidence if it weren’t for the uncomfortable way that Rayla’s and Callum’s faces tightened. 

“Prince Ezran?” Ethari asked, hoping he was wrong. 

The two nodded. 

“He’s king now,” Callum said, filled with misery.

Ethari didn’t know what to say. He felt dizzy, every emotion inside him flipflopping, hopes and sorrows and joys crashing into each other. Rayla had no assassin ribbons on her. Maybe she’d never been bound, her failure discovered before she could be so. 

But Runaan certainly would have been. King Harrow was dead. This confirmed it. But if his heir was king, then… 

Ethari gasped, a fierce shiver seizing his body. Rayla’s face crumbled even further. 

Ethari kicked himself. His control was slipping. He had to be a strong, steady presence for Rayla, but he needed answers. Where was Runaan? Had he stayed behind to finish the mission? How recently was their news that Ezran lived? And why was Rayla friends with his brother? He seemed like a sweet kid, but… 

It had been a simple, straightforward mission. Ethari hadn’t been comfortable with the killing of a child, but it wasn’t his place to object. Runaan and the others had their duty and Ethari had his. 

“It’s not right.”

Callum’s voice startled him out of his terrified reverie.

“Killing each other isn’t going to lead anywhere but more death.”

Callum’s voice trembled, but he was firm and steady as he met Ethari’s eyes, daring him to look away. Rayla touched his arm, understanding in her eyes. Zym whined, rubbing his face against Callum’s chin to comfort him. Ethari felt on the wrong side of a swamp, in the wrong even though he hadn’t had a hand in the killing himself. But it was his husband who’d done it. As the most skilled and experienced, Runaan would have been given priority in the assault, the others protecting him to make sure he got through. 

“I know,” Ethari said, subdued, “I have to right to offer you condolences, but I am sorry.”

Callum regarded him with suspicion, his pain rending another tear in Ethari’s heart. He looked away, clutching Zym closer to him, his chin jerking in an almost unperceivable nod. 

“That’s why we brought Zym,” Rayla said, determined despite her wretchedness. “Ezran was coming with us, too, but he had to go back to Katolis. But Callum is here. If he returns Zym to his mother, we could have peace. This blood feud could end.”

Rayla pleaded with him in desperate fervor. Ethari sighed, the breath dragging painfully from his throat. 

“I would love that, Rayla,” he said, head hanging in despair. “But you don’t have much time. The dragon queen is dying.”

Rayla gasped. Callum and Zym stared at him, the boy’s eyes wide. Ethari hated revealing this in front of the baby, but he had a right to know.

“Since the death of her mate and what we thought was the destruction of her egg, she fell very ill. She’s gotten worse in the last few weeks. But if she sees her baby, she might recover.” There was still hope. “You need to hurry. I’ll send a shadowhawk to the Storm Spire. If she knows her little one lives, she might hold on.”

Rayla nodded and exchanged a silent look with Callum. 

“Alright,” she said, resolved.

“Hang on,” Ethari said. “I’ll get Hero and Nightwind. You can ride faster than you can walk.”

With that, Ethari rushed back home to collect Hero, their shadowpaw, and Nightwind, their moonridder. As soon as he was sure that he could do so without tripping on a root and falling flat on his face, he took off in a run, yet the exercise wasn’t enough to keep worry from stabbing a dagger through his chest. If Runaan didn’t complete his mission, he would lose his arm. If he did complete it while the dragon prince lived, while he would be fulfilling his oath, it would run counter to the spirit in which the order had been delivered. When the queen’s baby was returned to her, should they be lucky enough for her to live that long, surely she would forgive the death sentence. Runaan’s sacrifice would be for nothing. He would return in disgrace either way. 

Did Runaan know about the dragon prince? Rayla would have told him if she could. Ethari hadn’t thought to ask. He must do so before they left. It was vitally important. 

He arrived out of breath to the house, not the best state to be in to whistle for the animals, who were nowhere to be seen, but he managed it, even though it burned his lungs. In a few moments, Hero and Nightwind ran up to him and covered him with sloppy kisses. He laughed despite himself, desperately grateful for the affection, but ordered them to settle down.

“You have to go with Rayla,” he told them, leading them to the shed in the back of the house where their gear was kept. “She needs you more than me right now.”

He saddled them quickly, nipping into the kitchen just long enough to grab fresh bottles of moonberry juice, a loaf of bread, and cheese, which he packed into a saddlebag before mounting Hero. 

Rayla and the others hadn’t moved from where he’d left them. Jumping off Hero, Ethari handed her the reins, then pulled her in a tight hug. She returned it eagerly, sniffing. 

“I would go with you,” he said into her hair. “But I need to be here when Runaan returns.”

“He will, right?” 

Rayla looked up at him imploringly. Ethari smiled with far more confidence than he felt.

“He’s done plenty of solo missions. He can handle himself. You just concern yourself with Zym, okay?”

Rayla nodded, but her grief hung heavily on her as she mounted Hero, who greeted her with a gentle lick on her hand. Behind her, Callum slipped on the saddle as he tried to get on Nightwind, who bit one of the sticks on his head. He didn’t seem to know how to stay on. At another time, Ethari would have wondered for longer at the paltry training this prince must have received if he mounted as if he were doing so for the first time, but he had far more pressing concerns. 

“Does Runaan know about the dragon prince?” he asked Rayla. 

The stricken look on Rayla’s face startled him. 

“He does,” she said, filled with guilt. “He said it didn’t affect the mission. That we had to get justice for the dragon king.”

Runaan had never defaulted on a mission. His sense of duty was absolute. It was one of the things Ethari most loved about him. Rayla looked like she wanted to say something else, but Ethari shook his head. There was no time to waste, and he wasn’t sure he could handle hearing anything else right now.

“You need to go,” he said. “Take Zym home.”

Rayla hesitated a moment, then sucked in a steadying breath and nodded firmly.

“Good-bye,” she said. “I hope I can come home soon.”

Ethari smiled, trying to reassure himself as much as her. 

“Me, too. Good-bye, Rayla.”

She turned Hero around and headed off. The boy looked at Ethari uncertainly, a sorrow no one should know at that age sagging his body. He nodded in a stilted good-bye and followed Rayla, Zym in his lap. Soon, Ethari was alone in the forest. 

He inhaled sharply once. Twice. 

He finally allowed his tears to fall.


	8. Chapter 8

After an entire day of travel, the dragon deposited them on the Moon Meadow. Runaan and Gren eagerly climbed off, legs numb and bodies sore from the uncomfortable positions they had been locked in for hours. But they were finally in Xadia and the dragon continued being friendly, so they were most certainly not going to complain. 

“Thank you,” Runaan said, bowing to the dragon. 

Hopefully they wouldn’t interpret his habitual gesture of gratitude as excessive flattery. The dragon smiled, pleased. Runaan let out a relieved breath. Gren stuck close to his side, standing a bit before him, clearly wanting to jump in front of Runaan this time if the dragon tried anything. 

“It was my pleasure,” the dragon said, sounded incredibly pleased with themselves. 

They pet Gren, then did the same to Runaan, who struggled not to yell as the dragon’s tail landed on his head, brushing his hair as if he were a beloved moonridder. They really were cute animals to this dragon. 

“I shall leave you here, little ones,” they said, leaning in. “Stay safe. Humans may invade Xadia soon.”

“What?” Runaan gasped. He exchanged an alarmed look with Gren. “How do you know this?”

“I fly around. The westernmost kingdoms have armies on the march coming this way.”

“The westernmost kingdoms,” Gren said. “What about Katolis? Duren?”

The dragon shrugged, a slow, rolling motion. 

“Not that I saw, but I wasn’t keeping a lookout. I heard that the queen of Evenere is dead. Were there any other assassins sent out, little elf?”

Runaan shook his head.

“No. I would know of it.”

“This must be Viren’s doing,” Gren said. “He wants war with Xadia. He may have made it look like an elf attack.”

“Viren?” the dragon asked, intrigued. “Isn’t that the mage who helped kill Avizandum?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Fascinating. These may be the most interesting year in a long time.”

They made the ongoing hostilities sound like no more than a piece of entertainment. Yet Runaan didn’t dare scowl in disapproval in the dragon’s presence. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing how things turn out,” the dragon continued. “Good-bye, little ones.”

Spreading out their wings in an unnecessarily terrifying display, the dragon took to the sky and flew off. Neither Runaan or Gren said anything until they were out of sight.

“That was one of the weirdest experiences of my life,” Gren said, sounding as if he never wanted to repeat it ever again. “Are all dragons that… creepy?”

“They aren’t, thankfully. But they don’t care for humans as a rule, so we got very lucky.”

“We sure did.” 

Gren nodded at Runaan’s left arm, smiling. Runaan followed his gaze. His arm was still very much swollen, but the sharp grove in his bicep had softened a bit. He was already recovering. A wave of joy and relief coursed through him despite the fresh worry that the dragon’s news posed. He closed his eyes, breathing in the crisp, soothing air of home, centering himself on the breeze flowing through his hair, the tall grass brushing his legs, the bird and flowersong filling his ears. 

When he opened his eyes, Gren quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening. He’d been staring at him. Odd. 

“And it’s even better,” Gren said, urgently changing the subject, “that we were able to get here so quickly. We need to warn Rayla and Prince Callum.”

“And Queen Zubeia. We’re almost at the Silvergrove. We’ll stop there tonight, see Ethari, then head north to the home of the dragon queen.”

Gren nodded in agreement. Runaan began leading him through the field.

“So this is Xadia,” Gren said, looking around him with a smile of wonder. 

His hair was standing up every which way, a fringe falling across his eyes. He brushed it away, only for it to fall back immediately as he stiffened, turning sharply to look behind them. Runaan got on his guard as well, but relaxed as soon as Gren spoke.

“I hear music.”

Runaan huffed a laugh.

“Those are melodaisies,” he said. “We’re in no danger from them.”

Gren frowned at him, incredulous. 

“Melodaisies? As in flowers? That make music?”

Runaan shook his head at him. Such an ordinary thing to be surprised by. The human realms truly were bereft of wonder.

“Yes. Flowers that make music. Everything around you is connected to a primal source. It’s only in the human realms where this is mostly lacking.”

“Everything?” Gren peered around him. “Even the rocks?”

Runaan began walking downhill toward the Silvergrove. It was only a short distance away. In less than an hour, he would be home with Ethari, touching him, holding him, kissing him. He vibrated with longing and excitement.

“Yes,” he replied.

Gren followed him, but at a much slower pace as he continued to examine everything around him with childlike glee. It was rather endearing, actually.

“And the soil?”

“It’s soil. Of course it's connected to the earth primal.”

“Wow. But the soil and rocks in the human kingdoms aren’t connected to the earth primal, are they? Most magic receded when Xadia was split in two. Except for places like the moon nexus, obviously.”

“That is also correct. Most of your land has no magic. It’s disconcerting.”

“Can you feel it? The magic around us?”

Runaan considered this, looking up at the sickle moon shining in the blue sky above, welcoming him home. 

“Not consciously,” he said, unsure how to explain it. “It’s not something we think about until we’re confronted with its absence. The moon stays with us, of course, as do the other sources for the respective elves that are connected to them. And many magical creatures remain, but there is this sense of something lacking. Like missing the breeze and the trees when we were stuck in the dungeon. You experienced that too, yes?”

“Yeah. It’s like missing nature, then? Something essential.”

“Precisely. It feels hollow, being in the human kingdoms. Even among the beautiful vistas-- which I grant you do have, even if you have razed so much of the earth to build your cities--, I can feel something missing. It’s not as bad as being shut off from the world in the dungeon, but its unpleasant. A niggling sensation in the back of my mind. A sense of wrongness. That the land I’m stepping on isn’t quite right.” 

He trailed his hand across the blue-green blades of grass, smiling softly at the trickles of familiar magic soothing his skin.

“It’s a relief to be back on Xadian soil,” he continued. “I’m not connected to the earth primal, so I can’t really feel it the same way that an earthblood elf can, but it's comforting all the same. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

Runaan looked up sharply at Gren. Why did he sound so subdued? His effusive excitement was gone, replaced by a pinched expression and a sagging frame as he gripped a pack strap on his shoulder and gazed at the meadow before them not with delight, but discomfort. He looked troubled. Hurt. He’d been so happy just a minute ago, but now he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Had Runaan said something wrong? What had he said?

Oh. 

Did Gren think that Runaan thought that he was wrong for not having magic? Runaan had believed that of all humans until he’d met him, that was true, but he hadn’t meant to say… 

Shit.

“Gren, I wasn’t referring to you. I didn’t mean that you are deficient. I was just trying to explain.”

“It’s okay.” Gren flashed him a brittle smile, eager to smooth things over. “I know.”

No, he didn’t. He was faking for Runaan’s sake. Cursing himself, Runaan stepped up to him and grabbed his shoulder, waiting for Gren to reluctantly meet his eyes before speaking.

“I don’t think you’re lacking because you don’t have magic. I apologize for giving you that impression. I should have worded my thoughts better before speaking.”

The insecurity in Gren’s face tightened the guilt welling inside Runaan. When Gren smiled, he couldn’t tell how genuine Gren was being and how much discomfort he was storing away simply to smooth things over. 

“I appreciate that,” Gren said. “It’s okay. Really. Let’s get going. I can’t wait to see the Silvergrove.”

Gren moved on ahead. Runaan faltered, angry at himself for being so unconsciously callous. What Runaan said still bothered Gren, but should he keep pressing the issue or let it go like Gren wished? 

“These are the biggest trees I’ve ever seen,” Gren said, awed once more as he gazed up at a large oak at the edge of the meadow. “Amazing.”

Runaan sighed. Best let it go for now. It might be selfish, but Gren wanted him to, so Runaan would follow his lead. And the sooner they got home, the sooner he would see Ethari again. There was little in the world he yearned for more keenly than that. 

`````````````

A short walk later, they finally arrived. Home. The forest gave way to a mostly cleared landscape of terraced hills that looked no different than an ordinary wilderness in the magic veil that protected the Silvergrove. Runaan jogged the last few steps to the end of the thick branch that held the runes that would allow them passage through the illusion. He grinned, breath caught in his throat. They’d made it. They’d actually made it. 

“We’re here,” he said, looking back at Gren, who surveyed the hills as if trying to spot cracks in the veil. 

“Amazing,” he said for what had to be the twentieth time today at least. “None of what I’m looking at is real.” He chuckled. “I love magic.”

That was a relief to hear after Runaan’s screwup earlier. Gren had renewed his effusive enthusiasm, questioning Runaan about every plant and mushroom they passed on the way here, his grin so wide that it rivaled the brightness of the sun. 

“Hoods up,” Runaan said, lifting his atop his head.

Gren did the same, hiding the many features that made him stick out as human. Even with this precaution, it’d be safer to disguise him, just in case. And since Runaan didn’t want to waste time being stopped by someone who recognized him, he would disguise himself as well with one of his remaining moon opals. He hated the idea of sneaking into his own home, but it’d be much easier this way. 

“Follow my lead,” Runaan said.

He stepped onto the slight groove on the branch where the first rune lay hidden. He’d explained to Gren how entry worked on their walk. The runes were the same, yet every inhabitant of the Silvergrove had their own, particular way of drawing out their magic. Some, like Rayla, danced upon them. Others tapped with their feet. Some simply walked in a circle, placing their feet in a specific way. Runaan was one of the later. Sometimes Ethari cajoled him into dancing with him, but it wasn’t as much fun without him there. Gren followed behind him as he stepped on the runes, mimicking his motions. One by one, the runes flared pale blue beneath their feet and the invisible curtain that protected the Silvergrove began to fade and contract, revealing the truth that lay beyond. 

Buildings were enmeshed in their natural surroundings of the verdant hills, working with nature instead of against it like in Katolis. All was bright with the soft, white light of the glowing mushrooms that grew on the trees and a soft glow of moon magic that cast the city in eternal twilight, the most comfortable illumination for a moonshadow elf. At this time of the afternoon, the town was busy with all sorts of people going about their business. Before they could be spotted, Runaan crushed a moon opal in his hand and whispered an incantation, casting the dust over them both. The spell blended them into their surroundings almost at the same level as the invisibility a full moon cast. Runaan reached behind him and grabbed Gren’s hand.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They made their way swiftly across town, skirting to the edges of the paths as much as they could. Never had Runaan had such an anxious homecoming. Excitement over seeing Ethari and fear that the illusion would fade too soon and Gren would be discovered thundered in his heart in equal measure. He would protect Gren if need be, but the potential repercussions didn’t bear thinking about. No law against bringing a human into the Silvergrove existed only because the notion was so inconceivable that it wasn’t deemed necessary. That could change easily enough. 

Finally, the tree that their house was built alongside of rose into view. They ran the rest of the distance and climbed quickly up the stairs toward the forge doors. As they did so, Runaan looked down to the reflecting pool below. 

Two lotuses floated against each other. Runaan released a long, relieved breath.

“She’s okay,” Gren said, squeezing Runaan’s hand before letting go as they reached the doors. 

The illusion had faded as they climbed up the stairs. Perfect timing. At this time of day, Ethari should be at his forge, working through his worry. Runaan could hear him, the clink of metal engraving sounding through the door. Smiling, he knocked. Ethari didn’t like it when people let themselves in without knocking. Only Rayla could get away with it.

“Come in,” Ethari called out a moment later. 

Runaan pushed the door open and stepped inside, Gren following a couple of steps behind. Putting down a long knife, Ethari got up from his work table at the opposite side of the room and turned around. He froze, eyes widening and mouth falling open when we saw Runaan, who smiled wider, trembling with joy.

“I’m home,” he said, shrugging off his pack.

“Runaan,” Ethari cried, smiling brightly.

They rushed toward each other. Runaan gasped as they met, wrapping up Ethari in a one-armed hug, not as tightly as he would have if his arm weren’t injured, but that didn’t matter. He was home and Ethari was clutching him close, burying his head on his shoulder, whispering his name over and over like a talisman. Runaan, inhaled sharply, breathing in the smell of his husband, sweat and heat from the heat along with the scent of metal polishing cloth and the stardust tea he favored. He sank his face into Ethari’s neck, inhaling his fill, Ethari’s hair ticking his nose, tears springing in his eyes. 

“What happened?” Ethari asked against his head, only to prevent Runaan from replying by kissing him, embracing his face with gentle hands. “Is the assassin ribbon still on you?” he asked as soon as he pulled back, hands hovering over Runaan’s arm, inspecting him anxiously. 

How did he know?

“Rayla is here?” Runaan asked, heart shuddering in his chest.

“She was. I found her just outside of the veil yesterday.” Ethari’s face fell. He rubbed an anxious circle on Runaan’s collarbone. “She told me what happened. Some of it.”

The sudden relief that had swelled within Runaan vanished, replaced by apprehension and dread. Which parts had she chosen to include in her retelling? The conflicted sorrow in Ethari’s eyes heightened Runaan’s worry. Either way, he’d confess everything once they were alone. Gren knew enough of it, but this was a family matter. 

“I should have listened to you,” Runaan said, apologetic.

Ethari’s lips thinned, eyes glittering with regret and disappointment, the sight cutting through Runaan like an arrow.

“You should have. We’ll talk about it later.”

Runaan nodded, heart in his throat

“The ribbon is off,” Runaan said. “Thanks to a dragon.”

Ethari’s eyes narrowed in shock.

“What?”

“It’s a long story. But first I need to introduce you to someone.”

Still holding onto Ethari by the waist, Runaan turned around to find Gren hiding behind the door. 

“Gren, what are you doing?” he asked. “Come in here.”

“I wanted to give you two some privacy,” Gren said, finally stepping inside and closing the door. “Hello,” he said to Ethari with a friendly smile, lowering his hood. “I’m Gren. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Gren is my friend,” Runaan said quickly, for Ethari looked utterly gobsmacked. “I owe him my life. Gren, this is my husband Ethari.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Ethari said, gaping at Gren as if, well, as if Runaan, who never had anything good to say about humans, had brought one home. “You are welcome in our home. But how did this happen? I would never have thought…” Ethari peered at Runaan, trying to figure out the seeming impossibility before him. “Is this related to Rayla traveling with a human prince?”

“ _A_ prince?” Gren asked, alarmed. “Just one?”

Ethari nodded. 

“They were traveling with the new king as well, but he returned to take up his throne.”

Ethari shot Runaan a probing look, silently asking if Ezran had, in fact, been able to be crowned without his interference. 

“Gren knows the extent of my mission,” Runaan says. “I didn’t harm King Ezran, nor will I.”

“Because the dragon prince is alive.”

“That, and because Gren and I have a truce. He’s very persuasive.” 

Runaan gave Gren a rueful look, which Gren returned with what he likely meant to be a cheeky smirk but came out as a cute smile of satisfaction. 

“And I made you see the error of your ways?” he said.

Runaan came very close to rolling his eyes.

“Let’s not go that far.”

“I’m glad to hear that King Ezran is returning to Katolis. He must be traveling with Corvus, the tracker we sent after him. They wouldn’t have let him go on his own. He’ll be safe.”

Every time that Gren mentioned the new king, Runaan dreaded that he’d deliver a barbed comment of blame, but he hadn’t in quite a while. 

“There is a lot we need to tell you,” Runaan told Ethari, who nodded.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “I’ll make you some food while you tell me all about it.”

Ethari reached down and slung Runaan’s pack over his own shoulder, then led them out of the forge and up the stairs into the house proper, his hand never leaving Runaan’s own. Once in the kitchen, he forced Runaan and Gren to sit at the round table beside the kitchen counter, which served as their dining table. There was no point in asking Ethari if he wanted help, yet Runaan tried anyway.

“I can pour the juice, at least,” he said as Ethari pulled out a jar of moonberry juice from their cold box. 

“Don’t you dare leave that chair,” Ethari said, brooking no argument. 

“I can help,” Gren said. “I’m not that tired.”

“No,” Ethari said, turning to him with a smile, perfectly friendly when it wasn’t Runaan insisting. “Thank you. You’re our guest. Please, sit and rest. I can manage perfectly well on my own. It won’t even take that long. You two must be famished.”

They were, but Runaan knew better than to confirm that. Ethari would pretend not to worry, but he’d fret even more. A moment later, Ethari placed two glasses of juice in front of each of them. He squeezed Runaan’s shoulder before returning to the counter and pulling out a bunch of eggs. Runaan watched him, delighting in the simple pleasure of being in his husband’s presence. They had almost had this stolen from them. How worried Ethari must have been when he saw four metal lotuses disappear. The urge to hold him, comfort him, kiss him, grew so acute that Runaan almost got up and went to him, but not even Gren’s presence would spare him from a stern rebuke if he left his seat before Ethari declared him fit to do so. 

“What happened, then?” Ethari asked, glancing at them over his shoulder. 

With a quick look at Gren, Runaan sucked in a deep breath and started at the beginning. Ethari knew part this already. Rayla failing to kill the scout. When they were almost discovered in the forest, altering them to the fact that the castle would be fortified against them. Runaan mourned having to crush the pendant Ethari had made for him, a twin with his own, which hung around his neck now. Ethari left his cooking for a moment, touched Runaan’s hand and kissed his forehead.

“I’ll make you another,” he said, smiling in understanding. 

Runaan held onto the warmth of his smile as he continued. He skipped over most of his confrontation with Rayla on the castle wall. The tension in Ethari’s shoulders indicated that he could tell that there were glaring omissions in his narrative. Dreading their later conversation, Runaan pushed on to the worst part. He avoided details here as well, for Gren was staring down at the table, his back ramrod straight, jaw clenched in bitter discomfort. As secure as Runaan felt in their truce, he wasn’t going to push it by telling him exactly how he killed his king. 

Nor did Ethari want to know. He’d only asked for details once, a few months before they married. Runaan had hesitated, fearing that Ethari couldn’t handle being married to an assassin after all, that he was looking for a reason to call off the wedding before he married a killer whom he couldn’t bear to share a bed with. Yet he’d taken the chance. Ethari had been quiet afterward. He didn’t speak to Runaan for a whole day, thirteen hours of anxious fretting and wondering if he should end things and spare Ethari the agony of having to break it off himself. 

But before Runaan could do something so stupid, Ethari showed up at his house, took his hands in his, and told him that he didn’t care. He could live with it. 

“You’re an honorable man,” he’d said. “You do what you have to to protect us. That’s all that matters.”

But he never wanted to know the details. That was more than alright with Runaan.

Yet this time, they couldn’t simply skip over it. 

“Andromeda. Callisto. Ram. Skor. They made sure I got through. They died at my side, honorable to the last.”

Ethari had stopped chopping vegetables. He stood still. Too still. His breath hitched as he inhaled sharply though his nose before he stepped behind Runaan and placed his arms on his chest. Runaan grabbed his right hand, interlacing their fingers. He was too cowardly to raise his eyes toward Gren, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a somber expression on his face. Dejected. Regret for those who helped kill his king. For Runaan’s grief. What a gentle soul he was. Runaan could still scarcely believe it sometimes. He had been so wrong about him.

“After,” Runaan continued, pushing past the knot in his throat, “they threw me in the dungeon. That’s where I met Gren.”

“I was chained outside his cell,” Gren said. “Runaan objected to my singing to pass the time.”

“I objected to you caterwauling like a banshee.”

Gren drew back, offended.

“I do not caterwaul. My singing has received lots of compliments, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure it has.”

But Runaan smiled. Ethari was looking between them, curious, wondering. Returning to the stove, he placed a couple of vegetable omelets on plates. It wasn’t their usual dinner fare, but it was fast and filling. Ethari favored it for Runaan’s first meal when he returned from a mission. As he completed the meal with potato cakes and brought the plates to the table, Runaan and Gren continued their tale. When they arrived at the part where Gren broke Runaan out of his cell, Ethari stood up from where he’d sat next to Runaan, pressed his hand over his heart, and bowed down low.

“Thank you so much for bringing my husband home,” he said, suffused with gratitude. “We owe you a great debt.”

Gren gaped at him, flustered, and looked to Runaan for aid, but Runaan only dipped his head, seconding Ethari’s statement.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Gren said, his uncertainty adorable. “You don’t owe me anything, either of you. We brought each other here, it wasn’t just me. If it weren’t for Runaan’s illusions, I’d never have been able to get out of the castle, so we’re even. Really. Please don’t make a fuss over me.”

Ethari didn’t look entirely satisfied, but he warmed even further at Gren’s disarming selflessness. So many others would take advantage of the chance to seek some boon, but Gren wasn’t like that. Despite all the horrors of those few days, being incarcerated next to Gren had been one of the luckiest moments of Runaan’s life. 

“Alright,” Ethari said, sitting back down and taking Runaan’s hand. “But you have my eternal gratitude nonetheless.”

Gren flushed. With his fair skin, any burst of emotion showed rapidly on his face in a cute, pink display. It was no different now. 

They continued their tale, summarizing as much as they could, else they’d be here all night, and there were important things that needed to be discussed in further detail than this. Ethari’s face grew wistful when they reached the Moon Nexus. 

“I wish I’d been there with you,” he told Runaan.

“Me, too.”

The dragon was the oddest part, their news the most worrying.

“Those armies,” Ethari said, “need to go through Katolis to get to Xadia. How likely is King Ezran to allow that?”

“Not likely at all,” Gren said. “But who knows what he’ll find when he gets home. He might be there already. Viren is obviously masterminding this. I should be there with him. Amaya is stuck at the breach.”

His face clouded with frustration. 

“You may not be able to help him,” Runaan said, “but we can help his brother.” Runaan turned to Ethari, regretting having to announce his departure just when he’d finally gotten home. “We need to warn Rayla. I’m afraid we’re leaving again at first light.”

Ethari nodded, grim.

“I’m going with you,” he said. 

Runaan opened his mouth, but the stern look Ethari shot him evaporated any objection he had. Once Ethari made up his mind, there was no dissuading him. Nor did Runaan wish to be separated from him again so soon. Besides, war might find him in the Silvergrove soon enough, and Ethari wasn’t completely defenseless, even if he preferred to watch others wield his weapons rather than use them themselves. But he wasn’t a fighter. Gren was better trained than him, and he didn’t like wielding a weapon, either. That might have to change in the coming days for both of them simply to survive. 

He nodded, resigned. Ethari lowered his eyes to the table, taking a breath before pushing himself to his feet with a decisive nod.

“Ok,” he said. “We best get ready, then.”


	9. Chapter 9

Ethari left Runaan soaking in the bathtub before heading into town to borrow three shadowpaws for the journey since their own mounts weren’t here. He would rather have helped Runaan bathe since he only had one functioning arm, but time was short and Runaan insisted that he could manage on his own. The state of his arm worried Ethari, but he would recover. He wouldn’t lose it. Runaan said that the terrible grove where the ribbon had squeezed was less pronounced already, and that the swelling was going down.. It hurt to imagine how horrible it must have looked before. Ethari would pack extra salve. He’d made a fresh batch earlier in the week, just in case. Runaan didn’t always return injured, but Ethari never wanted to take the risk of not being prepared. 

Making up a pretext for needing three shadowpaws was awkward, to say the least. If these were anywhere near normal circumstances, everyone would know that Runaan and Rayla had returned, but with humans in tow, it was safer not to. He still couldn’t believe it. Rayla and Runaan, especially Runaan, both making human friends. And on a mission to kill a human king and his heir, no less. On top of that, said heir, the king’s other son, and the companion of the king’s sister in law, the fiercest warrior in Katolis? Wild tales ran rampant about her ferocity in battle and ruthlessness in killing elves. The truth was probably in the middle. Stories of the enemy were always exaggerated. She couldn’t be so bloodthirsty if she had someone as nice as Gren by her side. 

Ethari liked Gren, and not only because he’d rescued Runaan from that foul dark mage’s grasp, even if that would have been enough. He was humble and kind, qualities that Ethari valued greatly. He got along well with Runaan, too, which was surprising. Runaan could be an acquired taste for some people, even those whose king Runaan hadn’t killed. Their account had been rushed by necessity, many, if not most of the details of their acquaintance left out. Maybe more would emerge as they traveled to the Storm Spire. 

But some needed to be said now between Ethari and Runaan. Like Rayla, Runaan had left out much about the last time they saw each other. Too much covered by a shame that made Ethari sick with worry. As soon as he had the shadowpaws settled with a nice meal, he went up to their bedroom. Runaan had finished his bath and was sitting on the bed, admiring the night fox that Ethari had made for him. His hair was undone, a loose curtain on his back and shoulders, which were bare. He’d need help to put on a shirt with his arm in such a state. He’d managed pants, though, loose, knit pajama bottoms in a pale blue that accented the markings going down his arm and into the sling which he’d put back on. 

Ethari stopped at the doorway, drinking in every detail of Runaan’s sun-warmed skin, his tired feet, his pensive eyes as they turned up to him, greeting him with a smile, the rest of his face following suit with a look of such love that Ethari weakened and rushed toward him to wrap him up in a hug, holding Runaan’s head against his stomach. Runaan sighed onto his shirt, holding him tightly with his right arm, the fox dropped on the bed. Ethari stroked his hair and kissed the wet tresses, his breath quickening. Tears stung his eyes and he collapsed on the bed beside Runaan, folding his right leg beneath him to wrap his arms more securely around him, careful not to put any pressure on his injured arm. The instant that Runaan touched his hair, Ethari sobbed, the tears flowing hot and fast. He’d never cried like this when Runaan came home before. He did when he left, when he was gone for too long, but he never let Runaan see him like this. He didn’t want Runaan to feel guilty for leaving him to do his job, but he’d never, ever come so close to not coming back. 

“I almost lost you,” he whispered against Runaan’s collarbone. 

Runaan kissed his head.

“I know,” he said, sounding as broken as Ethari felt. “In that dungeon, I thought all was lost. I’d resigned myself to my fate. But it crushed me to imagine you here grieving for me.”

Ethari took his hand and laid a desperate kiss on every knuckle, every finger, burying his face in Runaan’s palm, breathing in deep the scent that was uniquely him. Runaan gripped him in return, intertwining their fingers, and kissed him long and deep. When they broke apart, they rested together forehead to forehead, nose to nose, hitching breath to hitching breath. 

“Gren may not want me to be in his debt,” Ethari said, throat stinging. “But I am.”

Runaan rubbed Ethari’s head, brushing his fingers through his hair with a gentle affection that made Ethari want to weep again.

“Me too,” Runaan said. “I got very lucky in meeting him. Best not mention it again to him, though. He’s stubborn and easily flustered.”

“I’ll make him something, anyway. He won’t deny me that. I won’t let him.”

Runaan huffed a laugh. What a beautiful sound. 

“Speaking of your brilliant skills, I love my present. It’s beautiful.”

Ethari smiled.

“It’s a hunter, strong and clever like you.”

Runaan’s eyes softened even more and he kissed the tip of Ethari’s nose. Ethari giggled, but he soon sobered, remembering what he’d been so determined to discuss when he arrived. As much as he yearned to stay in this moment with Runaan, to hold him close and never let go, they shouldn’t push this off any longer.

“Runaan,” he said softly, regretful. “We need to talk about what happened with Rayla.”

Runaan’s expression clouded with guilt and he looked down, leaning back, his hand falling away from Ethari’s back to fist in his lap. 

“I know. I should have listened to you. She doesn’t have the temperament to be an assassin.”

“No, she doesn’t. And you should have listened. She didn’t tell me much beyond what you told me earlier. She said she showed you the dragon prince’s egg and asked you to stop the mission.”

“We had our orders. You both know that’s not how it works.”

Ethari sighed. 

“I know. But circumstances weren’t what we thought they were.”

“King Harrow still killed King Avizandum. That part was still true. And we had already bound ourselves. I had no idea that there was any other way of removing an assassin’s ribbon. There was no turning back.”

Ethari tugged off his scarf and pooled it in his lap, wringing it with anxious fingers. As far as anyone knew, they would have all lost their hands, and being so far from any dragon that could help, even if they were willing to, they would have. 

“You’re right,” Ethari said. “It was done. It was either you or them.” He grabbed Runaan’s hand with both of his and pulled it into his lap. “What happened besides that? What did you say to each other? Guilt is burning off you, both you and Rayla when she was here, but I didn’t dare ask.”

Runaan looked down, lost in thought before he replied. 

“I had ordered her to stay away, but she snuck into the castle nonetheless. I think she wanted to prove herself to me, to kill the targets before us, but somehow she found the egg along with the princes. I don’t know how that happened. But they were very friendly. The egg must have been in the mage’s storeroom. Maybe she pursued them there. Seeing it changed her mind. I never imagined that she wanted peace with the humans before this. Yet she must have deep down. She wouldn’t have capitulated so easily otherwise, would she?”

“It makes sense. I wouldn’t have thought so either, but you know how hard it is to get at what she’s thinking sometimes. And she is a kind soul. I’m not surprised.”

Runaan hung his head, hand twitching in Ethari’s own. 

“She’s more like you than me.” He looked up. “Not that that’s a bad thing. I should have seen it. But she was so determined and I… I wanted… Well...”

Ethari smiled ruefully.

“You wanted her to follow in your footsteps,” he said.

Runaan nodded. 

“It turns out she’s following in her parents’.” Runaan’s face darkened. “Except that she didn’t abandon her charge.”

Outrage and anguish struck Ethari as well. Lain and Tiadrin’s betrayal had shocked them all. Never would any of them have thought that such loyal and devoted guards could possibly leave the dragon prince undefended. 

“I still can’t believe it,” Ethari said, heart burning

“Neither can I.”

“But Rayla is making up for their treachery. She may have broken her oath as an assassin, but she’s making up for it by doing something much more important.”

“Yes. I wish I’d seen it that way when I confronted her. But it was too late.” 

Runaan frowned at the grove in his left arm left by the ribbon. Ethari’s heart seized at the horrible fate that Runaan calling off the mission would have resulted in. 

“I understand,” Ethari said, squeezing Runaan’s hand. “I do.”

“I still should have reacted better. I demanded the egg, but she didn’t trust me then. She raised her blades against me to defend them, the princes.”

Ethari gasped.

“You would have killed Ezran if she hadn’t.”

Runaan sighed, closing his eyes.

“I know you never agreed with that part of the mission.”

“My opinion about it is unimportant.”

Runaan rubbed Ethari’s palm with his thumb.

“It’s not.”

“It is. I would never interfere with your duty, and saying that I don’t agree with you killing someone is interfering. I can’t say that I’m not relived that he’s alive, but I don’t fault you for any of it. You know that, don’t you?”

Ethari cradled Runaan’s cheek, nudging his head up to meet his eyes, waiting until he was sure that Runaan understood before continuing.

“You and Rayla fought, didn’t you?”

Runaan nodded. 

“I told her…” His voice caught. Ethari’s chest clenched. “I threatened… I didn’t mean it. Of course not. I was angry. I needed her to see sense. She wouldn’t back down. I said I would kill her, but I didn’t mean it, not for a moment.”

Ethari drew back, cold, his hands leaving Runaan’s. Runaan gasped in pain.

“Because she broke her oath?” Ethari asked, mouth dry. 

“I didn’t mean it. And you know how serious our oaths are. I wanted to impress upon her the gravity of what she was doing. Letting that guard live had been bad enough.”

“But she was right not to kill him. Any of them.”

“I didn’t know that. How could I know that? In any case, it was—”

“Too late. I know.”

Ethari pushed off the bed and crossed his arms, desperately hugging himself, his back to Runaan.

“What else?” he asked. 

The bedsheet rustled as Runaan shifted on the bed to face him.

“We fought. Rayla was stalling, keeping me from going to kill the king. When I realized this, I left. I promised her punishment for defying me, but obviously there’s no sense to that now.”

Ethari rubbed his face, shutting his eyes with a fierce, weary sigh that drained all the energy from his body. A simple mission. That’s all it was meant to be.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, turning toward Runaan, who looked up at him with pleading eyes. “According to our laws, there’s little else you could have done. Especially since you’d already bound yourselves. We all messed up. I don’t think Rayla blames you. She blames herself. Things are the way they are. We lost our friends.” His breath hitched, aching. “But the dragon prince lives. The new King Ezran lives. If Rayla and Callum are successful, Xadia might find peace with Katolis, if nowhere else.”

“The armies from the other human kingdoms will try to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Despite his grim prediction, Runaan relaxed for a second, relieved that Ethari didn’t blame him. Ethari sat beside him again and touched his shoulder.

“Nothing this year has turned out how we expected it to,” he said. “This probably won’t, either.” Ethari smiled softly. “I mean, you brought a human home.”

Runaan smiled back.

“If you had told me that a month ago…”

“You would have jumped in the pond and drowned yourself?”

“Probably.”

Ethari laughed.

“We’ll go to them,” he said. “Warn them. That’s all we can do.”

`````````````````````````

Runaan and Ethari’s bathtub was nice. Really nice. The only nicer tub Gren had ever been in was the marble masterpiece at the moon nexus, which had probably been designed for royalty and other noble dignitaries. Was all elven furniture this gorgeous? Everything in this house was graceful curves, leaf and flower motifs, beautiful silver-colored wood, white stone, breathtaking paintings decorating the walls. Every building he had seen so far in the Silvergrove was just as striking, just like at the nexus. Did they have an ugly anything? Not likely. They themselves were gorgeous enough to begin with, so why shouldn’t everything they make be?

Okay, time to get out of the tub before certain _things_ happened. He was not wanking in Runaan’s house. Much less in the tub that he clearly shared with Ethari. The thing was huge. It could easily accommodate two people of their stature. 

Nope. Not thinking about that. At all. Picturing Runaan and his way too pretty husband doing anything was not crossing his mind. 

Anchovies.

Dog poop.

That worked. Right. Towel. He needed a towel. There were plenty of towels in the elegant (of course), teak chest beside the tub. Big, white fluffy ones. After toweling himself dry, he put on the clothes that Runaan had laid out for him. They were his own, since they were about the same fit. Ethari was two inches taller than Gren and more muscled. His shirts would be too big on him. Runaan had worn Gren’s clothes, so Gren shouldn’t be getting any sort of special thrill at the reverse, and yet he couldn’t help but feel the soft fabric as he put them on. He’d be going straight to bed, so they were pajamas. Even more intimate somehow. They were a soft green color with silver detailing at the hems. Moonshadow elves really loved their silver. 

The guest bedroom was just as comfortable as the bathroom. A soft bed, dresser, mirror, wardrobe, and a window that overlooked the town. He kept the curtains drawn just in case, but took a long peek while keeping his head covered. The bedrooms were on the third floor, which gave them a lovely view. The whole area was enmeshed in twilight, bright enough to see through, but soft as dusk. Bright mushrooms growing on the trees and enchanted lanterns provided more light, all glowing white. It looked peaceful, welcoming a good night’s sleep, except that this was the elves’ constant environment. Did Runaan like being out in the sun so much during the last month? He hadn’t seemed bothered by it, but who knew? 

Letting the curtain fall fully closed, Gren blew out the lamp and slipped into bed. The covers were as soft as the pajamas. Gren could get used to this. He soon found a comfortable position on his side, except he’d unconsciously lied on his right side. He preferred his left, but this was the position he’d slept in to accommodate Runaan’s arm. 

There would be no more of that. No more spooning, no injured, yet tantalizing arm draped over his, four fingers covering his five. With nothing atop him now but blankets, he felt lonely. There was no reason to. Runaan and Ethari were here, just in the other room, with each other, as the husbands they were. Runaan had no more need of Gren as physical support or for body warmth. Not even in the trip ahead, for they had packed enchanted tents that kept one cozy during the chilly night. Gren had one all to himself. 

He sighed into the pillow. That didn’t sound as great now as it usually would. 

Swirling among his self-pitying thoughts, it took Gren a long while to fall asleep despite his exhaustion. His dreams were no good, either. He was stuck in the dungeon again, only this time the baker was his jailer and a dragon broke him out. Runaan was a Crownguard, of all things, and he chased Gren around the courtyard, which suddenly transformed into a desert, then the Silvergrove, only that this Silvergrove was at the top of a mountain with giant, purple trees. Someone was hammering and calling his name.

“Gren!”

Gren jerked on the bed, sitting up automatically before he knew what he was doing. 

This wasn’t his bed. Oh, right. 

“I’m up,” he called out, rushing to his feet and brushing his hair into some semblance of order. 

He opened the door to find Runaan, who was already dressed. 

“Crap,” Gren grumbled. “Did I sleep in?”

Runaan shook his head, looking amused by Gren’s bedraggled appearance. 

“You’re fine. We haven’t been awake for long. It takes guests a while to accustom their sleep cycles to our constant twilight, so I figured that you’d need a wake up call.”

Gren stifled a yawn behind his hand.

“You’re not wrong. It’s quite the soporific.” He looked down at Runaan’s arm in its sling. “How is your arm?”

“Better,” Runaan said, following his gaze.

It was. The purple had faded to pink and his fingers were almost back to their normal size. The indentation on his bicep was shallower, too. Good. 

“It hurts less,” Runaan continued. “Soon I’ll be able to move it around freely again, hopefully before we reach the Storm Spire. Just in time.”

His words were grim, but his expression was one of delight. 

“You’ll be shooting arrows again in no time,” Gren said, smiling back.

A few minutes later, Gren was dressed and sitting downstairs waiting for breakfast to be ready. Again, he had offered to help, and again he had been ordered to stay put. Unsure whether it would be rude to insist in moonshadow culture, he did as he was told. Breakfast consisted of eggs, toast, and a heap of tomato-like vegetables and what looked like spinach but tasted far sweeter. He couldn’t help but notice that Ethari piled on more food on his plate than on the others, but he shied away from mentioning it. Protesting that they didn’t owe him anything probably wouldn’t go anywhere. Ethari showered him with attention, insisting that Gren be honest about how he liked the meal (it was scrumptious), asking if he slept alright, what they usually ate for breakfast in Katolis, and myriad other questions to highlight how much he appreciated his presence. Flustered, Gren responded as well as he could while sneaking in a few similar questions of his own and trying not to stare too much at the loving way that Runaan regarded Ethari, wishing that he could receive such attention from him. 

Once they were done, they finished packing their bags with food and went down to the forge. Ethari carried Runaan’s bow now, as he should. He was a good marksman himself, from what Runaan said, pride in his face. He grabbed an extra sheaf of arrows, while Runaan exchanged Skor’s blade for another nearly identical one. He didn’t want the emotional association, Gren supposed, or he didn’t feel worthy of wielding it. Then Gren was given his choice of weapon. 

Right. A whole wall of assorted blades and spears were spread before him. Some Ethari had mentioned were off-limits, since they were commissions, but there were still plenty for Gren to choose from. 

He might not need to fight. The possibility was strictly theoretical, but it was still a possibility. And he was a soldier of Katolis, with all the training that entailed. He would do what he must no matter his personal preference.

Unfortunately, his discomfort must have shown on his face, for Ethari frowned at him uncertainly.

“Are none of them what you would like?” Ethari asked.

Oh, no. He’d accidentally insulted Ethari.

“No.” Shit! “I mean, they’re all amazing. That’s not why I’m… We certainly don’t have any weapons like this in Katolis or any of the human kingdoms.”

“Gren doesn’t like wielding weapons,” Runaan said. 

Ethari frowned further in confusion.

“I know,” Gren said. “I heard it all from Runaan. He’s not the only one. A soldier who doesn’t fight. It’s a bit of an oxymoron. To keep it short, it didn’t work for me, and General Amaya doesn’t care. But these are exceptional circumstances, so I will take something. I do know how to fight.”

“I still require proof of that,” Runaan said.

Gren glared at him before turning back to Ethari to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look as confused as he had before Gren’s much too short explanation. Actually, it looked like he understood.

“I don’t like fighting myself,” Ethari said. “Runaan makes me spar with him so I know how to defend myself, but I’d rather other people use the weapons I make. And yet I really enjoy making them. I’ve often thought that might be weird in itself.”

“It’s not weird,” Runaan said with the air of having said it before.

“I’m a soldier,” Gren said, relived. “So my reticence is way weirder than yours.” 

He turned back to the weapons, zeroing in on the one the most like the swords he’d used back in training. And by like it, he meant completely different, for the pommel was sleeker, the crossguard resembling a glass sliver, and the blade long and thin, yet it was probably stronger than anything they had in the human kingdoms. It was certainly lighter. Gren would hardly feel the weight of it on his hip compared to the sword he had collecting dust at the Breach fortress. Runes stretched up the blade, each within “v” shapes engraved in the steel.

Hang on, they weren’t engraved. Several pieces clung together to form the blade. Did the blade bend?

“It’s a whip sword,” Ethari said.

He looked sad as he gazed at it, as did Runaan. Why? 

“Is everything okay?” Gren asked. “Should I not have grabbed this one?”

Ethari shook his head, smiling in reassurance. 

“No, it’s fine. I’d love for you to have it. I just remembered the first one of these I finished. I gave it to Rayla’s mother, Tiadrin.”

Oh shit. 

“I’ll pick something else,” Gren said, reaching up to return the sword where he’d found it.

“You don’t need to do that,” Runaan said, stepping forward and touching the sword at the center of the blade. “Keep it, please. It’s the closest to what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

Gren nodded.

“But I don’t want you two to feel weird about it.”

“We don’t,” Ethari said. “It was just a momentary reaction. I wouldn’t have it out if I didn’t want someone to take it. Here, I’ll show you how the whip mechanism works.”

He held out his hands for the blade. Resigned, Gren gave it to him. Ethari’s forlorn expression lasted only a moment longer before he flicked his wrist and the blade expanded into segments held together by a magical thread. It curled around the leg of a chair and yanked it forward. With another flicking motion, the blade reconstituted into a solid piece again. 

“Wow,” Gren murmured, staring.

“It’s perfectly solid now,” Ethari said, looking pleased with himself as he swung the sword toward Runaan, who stopped it with his own. The two connected with a solid _chink_ , the whip sword remaining firm. Ethari had more than enough reason to be proud of himself. Gren had been at the mercy of Sunfire elf blades, seen them melt through armor as if it were butter, but he’d never seen one become fluid one moment and solid the next. 

“You made this?” Gren said, awed. “It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ethari grinned and inclined his head.

“Thank you.”

“Ethari makes the most clever weapons in all of Xadia,” Runaan said, smiling at Ethari, who huffed, still smiling.

“You can’t possibly know that. You’ve hardly seen every weapon in Xadia.”

“I don’t need to.”

Runaan kissed him on the cheek. Gren turned his eyes away, a flash of longing shooting through him. 

“Thank you,” Gren said, taking the sword back. “I really appreciate it.”

He’d gotten the impression that Ethari meant the sword as a gift and not a loan like Gren had assumed earlier, but refusing now would be incredibly rude, especially after all this. Ethari got him the sheath for it and Gren strapped it to his belt, gazing at it in amazement and confusion. An elven sword. Amaya would love it. She’d make good use of it, unlike him. Two years since the last time he’d born any sort of sword at all, and now he owned an elven sword that could transform into a whip at will, made by the kind husband of the elf who he… 

Best not think about that. 

His friend. Gren certainly could continue being his very good friend.


	10. Chapter 10

After collecting their weapons, they went down to the base of the tree their house was built along and whistled for the shadowpaws to return from their early morning wanderings. Ethari watched Gren startle at the approach of three large cats, then melt in delight as one nudged his chin, begging for scritches. Apart from the immense gratitude that Ethari felt toward him, he was quickly growing fascinated with observing Gren’s reactions to everything around him. How different Katolis must be if something as mundane as a cold box for keeping food was a source of amazement. Preserving meat in salt sounded horrid. Not that Ethari had said so, afraid to cause insult. Being awed by the shadowpaws was much more relatable. The large cats were temperamental, but loving, loyal, and striking to behold. They held themselves with quiet grace, their stride fluid and elegant. They had been the moonshadow elves’ closest animal companions since before recorded history. They seemed to take to a human just as well, at least in moonshadow company. Gren laughed as his shadowpaw sniffed his face, tickling him. He pet all over their head and under their chin, cooing at them. 

Runaan was right. Gren was very endearing. 

He wished that he’d known that Gren didn’t like bearing arms beforehand, though. He hadn’t meant to put him on the spot when Gren hesitated over picking any of the weapons. But it would have never crossed his mind that Katolis would allow a soldier in their army to take a more diplomatic position and not even carry a sword, especially the right hand person of General Amaya. It was curious, and made him wonder what other assumptions elves got wrong about humans. 

They mounted the shadowpaws, lowered their hoods over their faces (Gren making sure to keep his hands covered), and went off down a secluded path that kept them away from the heart of the town. Soon they crossed the protective ward and emerged into bright sunlight. They squinted at first, the brightness uncomfortable while their eyes adjusted. 

“It’s amazing,” Gren said, looking back at the Silvergrove, which had vanished under the illusion of uninhabited hills. “Are all elven settlements protected like this?”

“Only moonshadow ones are,” Runaan, taking the lead towards the path that headed north. “You need moon magic to cast the best illusions.”

“You also like to keep to yourselves, right?” Gren frowned, uncertain. “Or am I wrong?”

“You’re not. We don’t shun strangers, but you need a resident of the town to let you in, and we don’t do it for just anyone.”

“I’m honored.”

Gren had a cute smile. He blushed easily, as well, although his pale skin tended to have a pink sheen about it at all times, so it was hard to tell. 

“We have a market every spring and autumn with merchants from all over Xadia, but it's staged between settlements, never inside of one. The last one was just a few weeks ago.”

“I’d love to see that,” Gren said wistfully.

A silent “not that I could” hung in his words. Ethari frowned, uncomfortable by the implication. Elves and humans had traded once, hadn’t they, before the schism? Although, lacking magic, human goods weren’t seen as particularly desirable. It had hardly been an equitable exchange. Their histories told that humans took far more than they gave, demanding what didn’t belong to them. What did human histories say of those times? Probably that the elves had callously refused them aid. Wasn’t that one of the accusations leveled at them even now by the human kingdoms? 

“Are the trees this big all over Xadia?” Gren asked, gazing up at the vaulting canopy above them as if he’d never seen anything like it.

“Well, we haven’t been all over Xadia,” Runaan said, “but they’re not just here, no.”

“The landscape looks that different in the human kingdoms, does it?” Ethari asked. “How big do your trees grow?”

“It depends on the tree. Del Bar has a forest of pine trees that are maybe as big as these, but this kind? Well, the relatives of this kind, I suppose… A third of this height, maybe. At the most. Most not even that. More like a quarter or a fifth of the size.”

So small? 

“They’re more like dwarf forests for us,” Runaan said. 

“Hey! They’re really nice forests.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t. There are some beautiful landscapes.”

“There are,” Gren said with pride. “But there’s nothing like this.”

No wonder Gren was excited by everything. The lushness of a Xadian forest was remarkably beautiful to a native. To see it for the first time must be awe inspiring. 

“What does your home look like?” Ethari asked. 

Gren’s description of high mountain ranges and forests shifted towards anecdotes about growing up on a farm and his yearning to head out and see the rest of the world, too restless to stick to his own corner. He had imagined himself as a regular, weapon-wielding soldier once, but the reality of having to strike someone, possibly to kill, had changed his mind. He didn’t go into much detail about his friendship with General Amaya, but they were good friends. Ethari wondered about her again. What would she think if he knew that Gren was so friendly with the elf who killed King Harrow and his husband, who had forged the blade that finished him? 

The conversation carried on to the other human kingdoms, which were as varied as Xadia’s own. Gren had only been to a couple of them, Neolandia and Duren, but he told them what he knew of the other two as well. Ethari had never been that curious about the human kingdoms before, and he doubted Runaan had, either. It felt like a grievous oversight now. Especially when Gren hesitated upon mentioning Duren. 

He had been happily describing each kingdom before now, but his voice dipped at “And then there’s Duren” and he grew silent, turning his head away so that Ethari, who rode beside him, wouldn’t see his face. Runaan, who rode a bit ahead both because of the narrowness of the path and to guard their front, looked over his shoulder at Gren and met Ethari’s eyes, his lips set in a serious line. The humans had killed the magma titan for the sake of Duren, to revitalize its barren lands. This much they knew, yet it had caused no less outrage and disgust when word spread throughout Xadia. It had been yet another violence humanity committed against Xadia, invading their lands and killing an innocent being to steal magic that didn’t belong to them. Runaan had fumed about it for days, Ethari no less furious and saddened. 

“Duren is very green,” Gren said, cautious, looking down at the ground, his voice too high pitched, as if he were trying to get through the motions of finishing up as quickly as possible. “Very prosperous. They call it the breadbasket of the human kingdoms.”

“But it didn’t used to be that way,” Ethari said, carefully keeping any accusation from his voice.

Gren sighed, head sagging further.

“I didn’t agree with what King Harrow or the queens of Duren did. Much less Viren.”

“We discussed this in the dungeon,” Runaan said, falling back. “But I think it’s worth revisiting.”

Gren abruptly turned his head.

“You do? Why?”

“Because we know each other better now. Know certain things better.”

Ethari didn’t know what exactly they had said to each other in those early days of hostility and fragile acquaintance, but he sensed where Runaan was going with this, for he worried about the same. 

“We’d heard that Duren was a barren land,” Ethari said, meeting Gren’s cautious eyes. “Cold and plagued by blights. That’s why they killed the titan, isn’t it?”

Gren looked away, then nodded tightly.

“The queens of Duren went to King Harrow for help. Duren had been suffering from crop failure for years and didn’t have enough funds to purchase enough food from the outside. Nor did any other kingdom have enough to spare, in any case. Once that winter came, they’d run out of food. King Harrow agreed to give them half of Katolis’s food stores, but we barely had enough stores to sustain our own people through the winter. Millions would die on either side, but King Harrow refused to let all the people of Duren die.

“Viren came up with the idea of using the magma titan’s heart to revitalize Duren and make it fertile again. Queen Sarai didn’t agree with the plan from what I hear. But Viren convinced the king, so they went. You know the rest. The queens who died that day are revered as heroes. No one starved that winter, and now Duren is prosperous again.”

Finished, Gren grew silent. For a long while, none of them said a word. Ethari exchanged a quiet look with Runaan, who was frowning with the same conflicted emotions that plagued Ethari. What the humans had done was wrong on such a deep, visceral level that there was no denying it. But millions facing starvation? Such a thing was unthinkable in Xadia. The different elf races didn’t always get along, but no one was allowed to go hungry. Ethari couldn’t imagine the possibility of starvation on such a massive scale ever happening in Xadia. From the troubled look on Runaan’s face, he was thinking the same thing. 

Nudging his shadowpaw forward, Runaan crossed over to Gren’s side and touched his shoulder. Gren slowed his shadowpaw to a trot before they all stopped completely.

“That should never have happened,” Runaan said.

Gren grimaced.

“I know.”

“I was referring to your people almost going hungry. We didn’t know it was that dire.”

Gren stared at him for a moment, then nodded in acknowledgment. 

“What they did was horrible,” Ethari said, “but I understand why they felt so desperate.”

Gren’s fingers flexed on his reins. 

“I don’t like dark magic,” he said. “You know that, Runaan. Even before I met you and especially now after…” 

Gren didn’t finish the sentence and Runaan’s face pinched, making Ethari queasy and furious. Runaan had spoken little of what Viren did to him, but it had been more than enough for Ethari to want to drive an arrow through his heart. 

“But I don’t see,” Gren continued, “how anything other than magic could have helped us. I was a teenager when it happened, back at my family’s farm. We would have been fine. Given the state between our peoples, I doubt that asking Xadia for help was something that occurred to either of them.”

Ethari’s shadowpaw reared her head up to look at him, sensing his disquiet. He pet her head to reassure her, but the comfort didn’t extend to him. 

“Sunfire elves wield magic that can re-fertilize a land,” Runaan said. “But their queen… You would have a hard task trying to win her over, even more than with me. I don’t know if she would have helped even if your monarchs had asked.”

“How about anyone else? Your people?”

Discomfort ate at Ethari’s belly.

“We don’t have the magical ability to do something like that.” he said, voice low. 

“How about sharing food?”

Runaan looked away. Ethari hardly had the heart to speak.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Too many of us fear humans to want to help. Some would have been sympathetic. We would have. But…”

“Elf and human affairs are to be kept separate,” Runaan said. “Or they were.”

Gren huffed mirthlessly.

“Except for killing each other’s monarchs, I guess,” he said. 

Ethari continued to pet his shadowpaw, its soft fur barely providing any distraction.

“Let’s be honest,” Gren said, raising his head. “If the positions had been reversed, I doubt the human kingdoms would have helped Xadia. Most humans hate and fear elves just as much as elves hate and fear humans. Both sides have treated each other like crap for way too long.”

“You’re right,” Runaan said. “We have. I used to think that all humans were liars who would kill us and use us for magical ingredients at the slightest opportunity.”

“And humans think that elves are violent monsters who drink blood.”

Ethari wrinkled his face in disgust, but he had heard that before. 

“Many humans would do that, though,” Gren said sadly.

“But not all of them,” Ethari said, smiling at him. 

Gren’s lips tugged upwards, subtle at first, then in earnest when Runaan jostled his shoulder. 

“Enough worrying for now,” Runaan said, taking the lead again. “Let’s get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

```````````````````````

The day picked up from then on. No more difficult conversations about grudges between elves and humans or who wanted to kill who, although the possible invasion was present in their minds. When they spoke, they steered afar away from anything that could spiral back into that subject, none of them wishing to return to it. Gren’s mood improved, although it dipped again at times when he wondered when he’d see Amaya again, and if word of Gren’s incarceration and escape had reached her. He also worried about King Ezran and what exactly Viren had done to convince three kingdoms to go to war. 

The other reason for his moroseness was petty. He really needed to get over it, but that was much easier said than done. Every time that Runaan and Ethari exchanged a loving glance or gesture, Gren’s heart filled with longing. They had shared plenty of touches, especially the spooning, but Runaan would never cup his face like that or welcome Gren taking his hand in affection. To stay close as they ran away, sure, but that wasn’t the same. 

Gren had known that Runaan was married before he developed these annoying feelings. Why hadn’t that been enough to keep them away? Nothing could come from them. Why couldn’t they just stop? He and Runaan were friends. He loved that. He treasured that relationship greatly, as he knew Runaan did. When he’d first proclaimed his determination to maintain their truce, he’d wondered if he was being too intense for him, but moonshadow elves held oaths and bonds above all else. He knew that now. An honorable moonshadow elf like Runaan would never break their bond. It would be unthinkable. And Gren would never betray him, so he was secure in his regard. 

He just wished that said regard included some other things. Like not sleeping alone in this really comfy tent that they’d given him. It was barebones, just the tent itself and a cot to sleep on, but it was enchanted to be warm and pleasant. No freezing for him tonight. He’d much rather Runaan was warming him, though. 

He groaned, curling up into a ball of shame. How was he supposed to face Runaan and Ethari with these thoughts in his head? It wasn’t fair to them. Ethari was so nice, too. So kind and thoughtful, and he and Runaan were so in love. They even had that old, married couple banter going. 

Shaking his head, Gren forced his body to stretch out and settle down. He needed to sleep, so that’s what he was going to do. 

Maybe. Once he moped a little more.


	11. Chapter 11

Runaan opened his eyes to white hair and soft touches on his left hand. 

Ethari. 

He smiled, kissing his head. Ethari turned, holding Runaan’s arm carefully on his chest. He looked up at Runaan with that mix of yearning and aching relief that crept into his eyes the instant Runaan had stepped into the forge. Like he wasn’t certain Runaan would still be there if he looked away. Runaan’s heart clenched. It had been years since the last time that Ethari had looked at him like this. He had hoped never to see it again. 

“The swelling is down,” Ethari said, holding Runaan’s hand carefully in his own. 

Runaan twined their fingers together with barely a twinge of pain. His skin was a dusky pink, almost back to its regular color, and his bicep was almost back to normal.

“How is the pain?” Ethari asked. 

Runaan lifted his arm. It twinged, but he didn’t flinch.

“Much better. By tomorrow, I should be able to use the bow again.”

Ethari grew stern.

“Don’t push it. I can defend us with it if need be.”

Runaan frowned, but he didn’t object lest he be drawn into, and lose, another argument where Ethari accused him of treating him like a helpless damsel and pointed out that he packed a harder punch than Runaan did. His technique was terrible, but there was no denying the strength that blacksmithing and Runaan’s training had given him. That didn’t keep Runaan from worrying, though, and not only that Ethari might be hurt, but that he might have to do something that his heart wasn’t hardened for. 

Capitulating, Runaan kissed Ethari lightly on the lips, murmuring, “Alright” and rested his forehead against his, closing his eyes. Ethari shifted onto his side, pressing against him and holding him close, his hand resting at the dip of Runaan’s back. Runaan yearned to bury his face in his neck and kiss all the way down to his navel, but there was no time for that now. The sun may be freshly up, but they must make haste. Gren might be up already. Yet between their fight over Rayla and Runaan’s injuries, they hadn’t had enough time to indulge in each other before they left the Silvergrove. Their reunions were usually more sensual indulgences than simply lying in bed curled around each other like they were now, not that holding Ethari in his arms in a quiet cuddle wasn’t the most heavenly he had felt in weeks. Ethari kissed him again, a quick peck, then moved on to his cheek, then his jaw. Then…

“Ethari,” Runaan murmured, enjoying his husband’s name on his tongue even as he sought to stop him from pulling open the fastenings of his tunic. 

“We can spare a few minutes,” Ethari said against his neck, tugging at Runaan’s shirt next.

Runaan didn’t stop him. He should, but Ethari’s lips felt so delightful on his skin, skimming down his collarbone to his chest, rubbing small circles on his back as he did so. Instead of protesting again, Runaan closed his eyes and ran his hands through Ethari’s hair, indulging in the sensation of the cool strands, his long horns, the warmth he’d missed so much pressing through Ethari’s clothes onto Runaan’s eager hands. Ethari rubbed his chest, careful of the scabbed slash across Runaan’s waist and skirting a scar just above it where a knife had caught him early in his career as an assassin. Back then he’d only known Ethari as the blacksmith who fixed his weapons.

Ethari rubbed his chest with his nose, making Runaan laugh as he reached that ticklish spot on his ribs. He kissed the spot, knowing perfectly well that this soft brush of lips made the tickling worse, the cheeky devil. 

“Stop that,” Runaan said, giggling and trying to tug Ethari away to a more comfortable position. 

“You love it,” Ethari said.

“Do not.”

Who was he fooling? Of course he did. Yet Ethari took mercy on him and raised himself back up to Runaan’s collarbone, settling in as if they were back home. Runaan snuck his hand down the back of his collar, rubbing his warm skin as he buried his face in Ethari’s hair. 

“I wish we could stay like this the rest of the day,” he said.

“Me, too.”

But the moment was much too brief. Soon, Gren emerged from his tent and yawned. Runaan pictured him stretching like he did every morning, arms up to the sky and rising on his toes as he worked out every kink in his body with his hair sticking up in every direction. He smiled. 

“What?” Ethari asked, sitting up.

“I was remembering how cute Gren looks when he yawns,” Runaan whispered. “Like a sleepy kitty.”

Amused, Ethari pulled open the tent flap and stuck his head out.

“Good morning,” Gren said, brightly.

“Good morning,” Ethari replied, before slipping back in the tent. “He does,” he whispered to Runaan, grinning. Runaan smirked before following him outside. 

```````````````````

Their second day of travel passed without any difficulties or awkward conversations. Yet not without incident. For a suspicion that had been niggling at the back of Ethari’s mind, more a whimsical thought than a conscious conjecture, came into sharp focus when he caught Gren gazing at Runaan in a manner that Ethari knew intimately well. 

They had just finished eating lunch. Ethari had gone to relieve himself. When he came back, he found Runaan petting his shadowpaw, his back to Gren, who stood by his own, but all his attention was fixed on Runaan, a look of such longing and adoration on his face that Ethari stumbled to a stop. 

He cracked a twig under his foot. Gren flinched and turned in his direction, eyes widening in horror when he spotted him. He swiftly turned to his shadowpaw, his ears burning red. Oblivious, Runaan looked over his shoulder at Ethari, who forced his legs to move forward and his face to not look as surprised as he was. 

Gren avoided meeting Ethari’s eyes for the rest of the day. Every time he saw Ethari look in his direction, he flushed and looked like he was either about to burst into an ardent apology or run off into the woods, never to be seen again. Ethari wanted to pull him aside and reassure him that he had nothing to be embarrassed about. How could Ethari resent anyone loving his beautiful husband? And under the circumstances in which they’d met, it made perfect sense. But he had no chance, not even when they camped for the night, for Gren ducked into his tent the instant they were done eating their evening ration. 

“Did Gren seem weird to you today?” Runaan asked as they got settled in their tent.

Ethari didn’t reply right away. He’d been bouncing back and forth all day on whether or not he should tell Runaan. Gren might resent him knowing. It might make everything more awkward, but Runaan, as sweetly oblivious as he was about some things, would notice eventually. Gren’s shy behavior around them today had already planted a question in his mind, and he didn’t like not knowing things. If Ethari didn’t say anything, Runaan would ask Gren tomorrow, and from what Ethari had seen, Gren wasn’t the most adept at subterfuge when it came to his feelings. Whether or not Gren confessed, the truth would come out eventually. And there might be a more peaceful solution, one that didn’t involve so much heartache, if Gren and Runaan were up for it. 

It had been a couple of years since the last time, and this depth of feeling had never been involved. It might be folly to suggest it at all. But some had also called it folly to marry a broody assassin, and Ethari hadn’t regretted a moment of it. Either way, stalling would only prolong the awkwardness between them. 

“Runaan,” Ethari said as he sat down on the cot.

Runaan had been about to lie down, but he jerked up at his name, eyes narrowing in attention as he recognized Ethari’s serious tone. He sat down across from him.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is it about Gren?”

Ethari nodded.

“It’s nothing bad. Although I suspect he thinks it is. After lunch, when you had your back turned to him, I saw him looking at you like… Well, the way I look at you.”

Ethari smiled lovingly at Runaan, whose eyes widened in shock. He truly hadn’t known. 

“He…” Runaan muttered. “Are you sure?”

“I know what it looks like to love you. I’m sure. He noticed me looking and he looked scared. He blushed. The whole day, he looked guilty if I so much as glanced at him. I tried to get him alone to talk to him, explain that it’s okay, but he avoided me. He’s too embarrassed.”

Runaan looked down at his lap, frowning as his thoughts worked furiously. 

“I should have noticed,” he reprimanded himself. “Back at the moon nexus, he acted strangely about sharing a bed with me despite us having spooned all the way there. He was flustered. Said that he didn’t want to impose now that separate beds were an option. I thought our arrangement was making him uncomfortable, but he denied it. I guess it was, but not for the reason I thought.”

So Gren had been harboring these feelings as early as then. Ethari did feel a bit of envy that Gren had gotten to share the splendor of the nexus along with Runaan. He had never considered going to even be a possibility. Yet it had been a nice fantasy through the years, one of those dreams that could only be accomplished in a changed world. 

“Do you know what his preferences are?” Ethari asked.

Runaan turned to him sharply, swiftly going from surprise to curiosity.

“I don’t,” he said carefully. “Do you want to ask him?”

“Do you? You have a close bond for having known each other so briefly.”

“I never thought of him that way. I mean, he’s attractive, but I never thought of doing more than looking. But I am very attached to him.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe we’re contemplating asking a human to join us in bed.”

“You already shared a bed with him,” Ethari said, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I know. I wasn’t there.”

Ethari and Runaan had an iron-clad rule about bringing in a third party to their bed. Both of them must be equally enthusiastic and participant. They had no interest in that sort of intimacy without the other involved. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Runaan asked knowingly. 

“Yes. Like you said, he’s attractive. And he’s kind and pleasant company. And he saved you. You killed his king, yet he still saved you. Not many would do that.”

Runaan nodded. 

“It astonished me too. I owe him everything. But I wouldn’t get involved with him this way our of debt.”

“That’s not my thinking at all. I genuinely like him.”

“Me, too. Our relationship progressed past obligation a long time ago. But, if his feelings do run that deep, it wouldn’t be fair to offer him just one night and then be on our way. It would make things worse.”

That was true. It might sate him for the moment, but ultimately make his yearning even more acute. 

“Would you consider offering him more than one night?”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed, assessing Ethari.

“Would you? We’ve never done that before. You’re not offering just because you think I’d like to, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m not so selfless, Runaan. I really do like him. If I didn’t have you and I met him… And if he were an elf, I guess... That’s another complication.”

“Oh, moon, yes.”

Runaan dropped his head in his hand and rubbed his forehead. 

“I would consider courting him,” Ethari continued. “I think I would. To be honest, I hadn’t thought this all the way through when I brought it up. It’s been nagging at me all day, this sudden tension between us and Gren, and the ache of him sheltering that love close to his chest. I hate it. So often, there isn’t a solution, but sometimes, maybe there is.”

Runaan smiled affectionately and touched Ethari’s cheek, leaning in close for a soft kiss.

“You’re such a softie,” he said. 

“So are you, my little mouse.”

Runaan groaned at the pet name, given to him because he was allegedly “too quiet”. As if such a thing was possible for an assassin. 

“You’re only an inch taller than me.”

“It still counts. Plus, I’m stockier.” Ethari sat up straight, showing off his firmer physique. “None of your lithe muscles here.”

“You love my lithe muscles,” Runaan teased as he slipped his hand to Ethari’s nape and pressed himself against him. Ethari grasped his back, stroking him through his shirt.

“I sure do.” 

They had gotten off topic. Deliciously so, but slowly they forced themselves to untangle, leaving only their hands clasped between them. 

“You’re sure?” Runaan asked.

Ethari nodded.

“As sure as I was when I realized why you kept constantly damaging your weapons when you found out that I’m a blacksmith.”

For weeks, this young assassin had slipped into the forge that Ethari shared with two others, all fresh from their apprenticeships, and sheepishly came up with excuses for why the sword that had been pristine just last week now had a big dent on it. He always went straight to Ethari, all businesslike, mincing no words, yet with a strangely timid reluctance to meet his eyes. He always looked so disappointed when Ethari was too busy and one of the other smiths had to take his weapon. He could have just asked Ethari on a date, but he was hopeless at expressing interest in someone. Only when Ethari gifted him a tiny, wire mouse did he admit his attraction, for Ethari had given it to him in a small, blue box tied with a double knot in white ribbon, the traditional mode for exchanging favors during courting. The hardened assassin had flushed, so sweet, and accepted it with a small head bow, a smile of happy surprise and embarrassment at his bungling tugging at his lips. 

Runaan smiled again now, quietly reminiscing before nodding.

“That sounds sure to me,” he said.

“It sounds like you’re sure too?”

Runaan nodded. 

“As sure as you are, I think. I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“Nor I. If Gren agrees, if you ever want to back away, tell me right away, okay?”

“Of course. You tell me too.”

Ethari nodded. Nervousness tingled up his back and down his stomach. Would Gren accept? Would he say no? Would they all feel more awkward about the whole thing? What if he had no interest in Ethari touching him and he only wanted Runaan? And if he did say yes… Too many questions surrounded that possibility, too many that they hadn’t touched on yet, but there was no point asking them without Gren to provide the most vital answer first.

Ethari shook his sudden fears away and focused on Runaan, who was tugging him down on the cot, looking as excited and anxious as him.

“We’re actually doing this,” Ethari gasped in disbelief.

“It looks that way.” 

He squeezed Ethari’s hands and Ethari returned the gesture.

“He might say no,” Runaan said. “This could all be moot. It could wreck everything. I’ve done a lot of wrecking lately.”

“Or it could go well. We don’t know.”

Runaan huffed a laugh.

“You sound like Gren with that optimism.”

“Maybe that’s a good sign.”

Runaan pressed his forehead against his and closed his eyes, evening out his breathing with that disciplined assassin training of his. Ethari didn’t have the benefit of such skill, so he held onto his husband, fearing, hoping, that everything would work out.

`````````````````

“Are you still sure about this?” Ethari asked. 

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Runaan nodded.

“How about you?”

Ethari nodded as well, eager to leave the tent and greet Gren.

Runaan had trained himself to get as much sleep as possible whenever he could on a mission, and yet he still awoke in the night dreading the morning. 

Well, not dread exactly. He was nervous. He didn’t want to hurt Gren or Ethari, and this had the potential to blow up in their faces spectacularly. But so he’d thought when he was too scared to ask the talented new journeyman blacksmith to consider him as a viable prospect. If it weren’t for Ethari taking the first move, he would have missed out on the happiest relationship of his life. Not trusting Ethari’s instincts about people had not turned out well for him. The recent fight with Rayla was only the latest example, and the one that hurt the most by far. So he would go out there, look Gren in the eyes, and ask him what he wanted.

Ethari took him by the hand and led him out of the tent. Gren was already chewing on a flat cake in front of his tent. 

“Morning,” he said, smiling, but his greeting was trying too hard to seem fine. He only met their eyes for a second, his ears reddening when he saw their clasped hands. He looked down, trying to hide the sorrow and guilt that flashed in his face in quick succession. Runaan kicked himself. How had he not noticed how Gren felt about him? It was so obvious. Missing the obvious about people. That was him. From now on, whenever Ethari gave his opinion about someone, Runaan would shut up and listen. 

“Good morning,” Ethari said, smiling at Gren, who tried so hard to look like he wasn’t struggling. 

Runaan groaned inwardly, suppressing the urge to go to him, raise his chin and tell that he had nothing to fret about. But that would be coming on too strong without the necessary information to precede it. 

“Gren,” he said. “We want to talk to you about something.”

Gren looked up, startled, eyes widening with horrified realization as he looked between him and Ethari. He groaned, flushing pink as he dropped his head in his hands. This time Runaan did go to him, crouching in front of him and touching his shoulders, trying to coax him to look up at him. Ethari sat beside him.

“Gren,” he said gently. “It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Gren said, more embarrassed than Runaan had ever seen anyone look. “I didn’t want you to know.” He glanced at Ethari, swiftly looking down. “I didn’t mean for you to see me. I didn’t want to make things awkward. Runaan told me that he’s married practically from the beginning. It’s not like… I never, ever intended to get between you two. You have nothing to worry about.”

“We know,” Runaan said. “That’s not the kind of person you are. I would never think that of that you.”

“I’m not angry,” Ethari said kindly. “That’s not why we want to talk to you. And I certainly don’t blame you for loving Runaan.” Ethari smiled at Runaan, loving. “I know how hard it is not to.”

The panic that had tensed Gren eased as he frowned between them, relaxing at the lack of hostility. 

“So it’s not going to be weird between us?” he asked. “I really appreciate your friendship. I don’t want to lose that. I’m perfectly happy being your friend.”

Not perfectly happy, obviously, but they would try to rectify that.

“You won’t lose me,” Runaan said. “I’m not going to be the one who walks away from our truce.”

Gren burst into desperate laughter, more tension leaving his shoulders. 

“I think we’re way beyond a truce now.”

“Much beyond. Which is why we wanted to ask you… We have a proposal, but we don’t know if it would be acceptable to you. We never spoke about what your preferences are in relationships.”

Gren frowned. 

“Well, gender hasn’t ever been a factor for me in terms of that. What are you getting at?” 

Runaan exchanged a glance with Ethari. Now that the moment had come, fear that Gren would say “no” crawled in his belly. 

“What we were wondering,” Ethari said, “was actually how many partners you prefer to have.”

Gren’s frown deepened. 

“How many?” 

He spoke slowly, putting the pieces together. 

“Ethari and I,” Runaan said. “Sometimes we invite a third party to our bed. But only if we’re both in equal agreement and involved. And before we get into misunderstandings, we don’t have sex. It’s not something we’re into.”

“Oh,” Gren mumbled, looking away for a moment. “Okay. So you, um, cuddle? That sort of thing?”

“Among other things,” Ethari said. “We were wondering if you’d be interested in joining us.”

Gren rubbed the back of his neck, lips working soundlessly.

“I don’t… This is a lot to process. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve only been with one person at a time. I hadn’t really thought of…” He gestured vaguely between Runaan and Ethari. “Both of you.” He groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… Ethari, you are very handsome and incredibly skilled. And kind. But I really didn’t expect this.”

“I know,” Runaan said, resisting the urge to touch him again. It might not be best right now. 

“I don’t want you to offer me this out of pity. I really am okay.”

 _You’re not._ Runaan bit his tongue, even though this was more obvious by the second. 

“Pity is the furthest thing from our minds,” Ethari said. 

“I care for you, Gren,” Runaan said. “I would lay down my life for you in a second. I wouldn’t offer this if I didn’t want to be with you. Neither of us would.”

“I know we barely know each other,” Ethari said. “But I like you. I am attracted to you. We’re not just interested in sharing a bed with you for a couple of nights. We’re asking, if you’re interested, if we could court you.”

Gren froze, staring at Ethari, shocked even further by their proposal. 

“C-court me?” His voice was small, disbelieving and amazed. “You want me to be part of your relationship? Like you two have?”

“We’re not proposing marriage,” Runaan said. “We don’t do that so early. In any case, we don’t know if this is acceptable to you or not. We’ve never done this before, actually. Quick flings here and there for lack of a better word, but not this.”

“But we aren’t looking for that from you,” Ethari said. “Not something so fleeting.”

Gren stared between the two of them in shock, his expression frustratingly difficult to read, somewhere between disbelief and hope and fear. 

“Tell me this isn’t because you feel you owe me,” he said, sternly demanding full honesty.

“It’s not,” Ethari said, raising a hand to his heart. “On my word as a moonshadow elf.”

Runaan did the same. 

“On my honor,” he said. “My affection for you is genuine.”

Gren sagged against the tent as if his strings had been cut, gasping out an apprehensive breath that he’d held onto for far too long. He rubbed his face, looking down, thinking about what they’d said. 

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “I never thought… expected… I assumed that you’d never be interested in me. I shouldn’t have assumed that you’re monogamous, but, Runaan, you only talked about Ethari. You never mentioned… Why should you have? It’s not like it ever came up. And I really never thought. Okay, I’m rambling now.” 

He peered at them, studying them as if he were seeing them for the first time. The anxiety in Runaan’s stomach coiled tighter. He had no idea whether Gren would accept or not.

“I need time to process all this,” Gren said. “I’m not saying no.” The quick way he said that lightened Runaan’s heart, giving him hope. “I just need to think. There’s a lot to think about.”

“Of course,” Runaan and Ethari said, practically in unison. 

“Take all the time you need,” Ethari said.


	12. Chapter 12

The first leg of that day’s journey was unusually quiet. They hardly spent the entire time talking, but now no one was saying anything, which on one hand was helpful to focus Gren on what the hell had just happened, but was also unhelpful because he felt the weight of Runaan’s and Ethari’s attention even when they weren’t looking at him. It would have been really nice to have some time alone to figure this out. Riding a foot away from the people who had just said that they wanted to court him wasn’t the greatest for exploring his feelings. For one thing, he didn’t dare show any of it on his face, not his stupefied joy that Runaan wanted to be with him, or his surprise that Ethari wanted to join in, or his confusion that they thought it would work out with a human who served beside General Amaya, who was apparently despised in Xadia. The Silvergrove would never take him in, would it? Well, maybe if the embassy to the dragon queen worked. Her little son was alive and friends with humans. That definitely had to change something, right? But such cataclysmic shifts didn’t occur overnight. 

And what about Amaya? She hated Xadia for the death of her sister, yet above all she acted out of love and a sense of justice. She would have seen Runaan executed for killing King Harrow, but not rotting in prison at Viren’s mercy. Would she understand why Gren had befriended Runaan, how he’d fallen in love with his king’s killer, how kind and loyal this “cold-hearted” assassin was underneath? Gren wasn’t sure he’d survive making the comparison out loud, but Runaan reminded him of Amaya. They were both devoted to their country and their duty, placing it above anything else. They loved just as fiercely. They were incredibly skilled warriors and had gained fearsome reputations among their enemies, but they didn’t kill for pleasure. They fulfilled their grim tasks to protect others, for justice. Gren wasn’t sold on the assassin way of doing things, but Runaan was a far cry from the assassins in the human kingdoms, who killed for profit. Runaan didn’t even get any money from his commissions. If the circumstances were vastly different, he and Amaya might get along. Maybe even if the circumstances weren’t different. After all, Gren liked him plenty.

He really did want to be with Runaan. His hopeless fantasies about kissing him and holding him in his arms again might actually come true. Although sex had been part of his fantasies, but he could live without it. It wasn’t a dealbreaker. He hadn’t thought of Ethari that way, though. Not that his mind didn’t run with it once the possibility was out there. That was a good sign. Ethari was very attractive. And so nice. Gren liked him. He worried that Ethari’s motivations might be led at least partly by debt to Gren, but he had sworn that it wasn’t so, and moonshadow elves regarded oath-breaking to be one of the foulest acts one could commit. So Gren had to trust him. Runaan too. 

Could it actually work, though? The three of them? Would Gren ever be truly equal in their relationship? Runaan and Ethari had known each other for nearly two decades, and had been married for sixteen years. They’d raised a kid together. Meanwhile, Gren had known Runaan little more than two weeks, and Ethari only for three days. Sure, that was plenty of time to start courting someone, but… And they’d never done this before. Just quick liaisons. That’s it. Why was Gren special? Because he’d rescued Runaan from the dungeon? 

No, there was more to it than that. There was. Runaan and Gren did have a bond, didn’t they? Fleeing from almost certain death and sleeping pressed together on the forest floor created a bond that wasn’t easily severed. Neither of them would ever do so. Gren was certain of that. As Runaan’s husband, developing a relationship with Ethari should be easy enough. 

But would it? What if they never vibed that way? He’d never been in this kind of relationship before, and neither had they. Everything could go epically wrong because they didn’t know what they were doing.

Now he really had lost it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the optimistic one? If Amaya knew what he was thinking now, she’d reprimand him for being stupid. When did anyone ever know what they were doing when it came to love? Gren hadn’t stopped to consider the ramifications in fine detail when he took Runaan with him. He did it because it felt right. Did this feel right? The details, consequences, logistics, those could all be worked on as they went. The only question he should be concerned with right now was, did he want to be with Runaan and Ethari?

The question hounded him as they took a detour off the main road along the river they had been riding alongside for the last few miles. It curled off to the right, descending off a sheer cliff face about five meters high in a small waterfall. A narrow path wound down the hill to a pleasant clearing by the water’s edge. They stopped there and descended from their shadowpaws, who stopped to lap up water from the river. It was a peaceful spot, as beautiful as all the others he’d seen in this fantastical land. The gentle burbling of the descending water eased the tension that had been eating away at Gren’s body all morning. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the crisp air, listening to the water and the chirping of birds whose names he was still learning. 

When he opened them, he found Ethari and Runaan standing before the waterfall with their arms around each other’s shoulders, but their expressions were not of quiet contemplation. Their faces were drawn in sorrow, Runaan’s jaw clenched, Ethari’s eyes pinched with resentment. 

“What’s wrong?” Gren asked, coming to stand beside them.

They turned to him, twin faces of nostalgia and grief. 

“We came here once with Tiadrin and Lain,” Ethari said. “Years ago. We left Rayla with my parents and accompanied them halfway to the Storm Spire.”

Oh. Gren lowered his head, the waterfall less relaxing now. He wanted to reach out and touch Runaan’s shoulder, but he hesitated. 

Why shouldn’t he, though? Runaan would welcome the touch. There was no doubt about that. So would Ethari, who was gazing at the waterfall as if it could summon the ghosts of his former friends and demand why they had betrayed their people, betrayed them. 

_What do you want?_

He wanted to hold Runaan in his arms and kiss his sadness away. And he wanted to hug Ethari and tell him everything would be okay. While he may not feel the same swell of feelings as when he gazed at Runaan, that didn’t mean that he didn’t care about Ethari’s wellbeing and didn’t want him to be happy. Or to touch his face and try to make him smile. 

He had been so jealous of Ethari. Never once blaming him, but still. Jealous. And he’d had no reason to be. Although Gren still wasn’t sure if he’d ever hold the same place in their hearts as they did to each other. And he only liked Ethari, not loved him. There hadn’t been time for that. But he could see it happening. That sweet smile that Ethari had directed at him as he swore that his intentions to woe Gren were sincere would make anyone’s knees melt. Gren had been too flustered to appreciate it, but as he remembered it now, remembered Runaan’s hand on his shoulder, the gentle pressure, his worry as he reassured Gren that his love wasn’t an inconvenience, but welcomed… 

Gren blushed, heat swimming up his face to the tips of his ears. He wanted this. He was certain. Difficulties and consequences be damned. He’d thrown any concern for sanity or safety out the window the instant that he’s rescued an elven assassin from a human prison. You could even say he had the instant that he’d sung to him to soothe his tears. What a fine mess he’d enmeshed himself in. But what a divine one. 

“Yes,” he said, the word gusting out of him the instant he thought it.

Runaan and Ethari frowned at him.

“Yes what?” Runaan asked.

Right. Context. That was important.

“I accept your proposal. To court me. If you haven’t changed your minds.”

“No,” Ethari said so vehemently that Gren panicked. “No, we haven’t. Sorry.” 

He smiled with happiness. The knot that had jerked tight in Gren’s belly loosened as Runaan took a step toward him, searching his face before smiling as well.

“You mean it?” he asked.

Gren nodded.

“I do,” he said, breathless and a little lightheaded. 

His breath froze altogether when Runaan reached for him, cradling Gren’s head, thumbs rubbing his earlobes. Runaan inclined his head, making his intentions clear, but stopped, quietly asking permission. Not daring to move, Gren nodded, and Runaan completed the motion, pressing a gentle, soft kiss to his lips. Gren whimpered. He flushed beet red, filled with embarrassment, but Runaan smiled against his lips and Ethari hugged him close, kissing his forehead. Runaan stepped back and reached in his pocket. 

“We didn’t want to give these to you before,” he said, “so we wouldn’t pressure you, but we want to do this right.”

Pulling out a moon opal, he cupped it in both hands and presented it to Gren, who took it, guessing at its significance.

“A courting gift?” he asked.

Runaan nodded.

“Not everyone does it these days,” Ethari said. “But traditionally one gives a gift to the one they wish to court to express their desire. I gave Runaan one after he took too long in letting me know that he wished to court me.”

A wistful smile of remembrance tugged on Runaan’s face and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking dangerously close to sheepish. Ethari held up a small knife, the kind used for cutting meat rather than stabbing people.

“My gift to Runaan was the work of my hands, and so is this. I wish I had something nicer to give you.”

Gren’s hand practically trembled as he took it and drew it out its sheath. He’d already seen it as they ate, but not up close. Despite its simplicity, it was more elegant than any ceremonial blade he had ever seen in Katolis. 

“These are perfect,” he said, swelling with happiness. “They’re some of the nicest things anyone has ever given me. I wasn’t expecting…” A trembling, happy laugh escaped his lips. “I wasn’t expecting any part of today. Thank you. Do I give you something? I feel like I should give you something.”

“Tomorrow, if you wish,” Runaan said. “Your gift would traditionally come at our second meeting, but since we won’t part anytime soon, we’ll improvise.”

Runaan smiled at him. Again! Gren had never seen him smile so much before they arrived at the Silvergrove, and the vast majority of those smiles were reserved for Ethari, but now more and more were directed at him. Sure, Runaan had smiled at him before. Gren had been so excited the first time it happened that he’d wanted to throw a party, but now there would be many, many more smiles. He grabbed Runaan and Ethari again, pulling them into a hug. Their heads knocked together, but it didn’t hurt. On the contrary, it was glorious. Two sets of arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, reassuring him that this wasn’t some ephemeral dream, but wonderful reality. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll do my utmost to make you happy. I promise.”

“You already have,” Runaan murmured into his hair.

`````````````````

Runaan and Ethari invited Gren into their tent that night, yet making it clear that he was under no obligation to accept. They didn’t want to push anything too soon, although, given how exhausted they all were after three days of riding nearly nonstop, it was doubtful anything would happen beyond sleeping. Gren tried not to seem immensely eager as he accepted, but, given the pleased smile on Ethari’s face, he failed completely. The tents hadn’t been designed to hold more than two fully grown adults in them, so they were a bit cramped as they figured out what positions they would sleep in. Gren didn’t mind one bit. 

“I can spoon you if you want,” Runaan said to him. “That always worked well for us. And my arm still needs the support.”

“Sure,” Gren said, so happy he was giddy. “I’ve missed that, actually.” 

The smile that tugged on Runaan’s lips implied that he had guessed that. He lied down behind Gren, tugging him down with his arm around his waist. If Gren kept grinning like this, his face was going to start hurting, but who cared? 

“In that case,” Ethari asked Gren, “would you mind spooning me?”

“Mind? I’d love to.”

But he glanced at Ethari’s pointy horns, which could easily stab him in the face if he wasn’t careful. Ethari chuckled. 

“You’ll be fine,” he said lying with his back to Gren. “The little spoon always lies down further up to avoid hitting their partner with their horns, but I’m taller than you, which works in our favor.”

“It helps that you don’t have any, actually,” Runaan told Gren. 

Ethari arranged himself so that Gren’s nose brushed his nape, yet they were still well aligned, the warmth of his body joining Runaan’s to heat up Gren so nicely that he wanted to giggle. Not in a sexual way, though. That wouldn’t be good with these two. They hadn’t discussed it further today. They really should tomorrow. Whatever they wanted or didn’t want to do was fine with Gren, though. This alone was making him ecstatic. Ethari’s hair was as soft as Runaan’s, but his body was bulkier. Runaan’s arm stretched above Gren’s like before, while his hand gripped Ethari’s. That was fine, for Ethari twinned his other hand with Gren’s, four fingers through his five, Gren’s pinkie hanging loose.

“I’ve never held hands with someone with five fingers before,” Ethari commented.

“Well,” Gren said, “I’d never held hands with someone with four fingers before Runaan, but we were running from the Crownguard, so I’m not sure that counts.”

Runaan shifted behind him.

“I may have,” he said, “touched that little finger of yours while we spooned earlier. Not by accident.”

Gren huffed a laugh.

“It probably looks weird to you, huh?”

“It is unusual.”

“I think it’s cute,” Ethari said. “Especially your little nail.”

He shifted his hand and stroked along Gren’s little finger. 

“Do you think,” Runaan asked, “our hands look strange with four fingers?”

“At first,” Gren said. “But that was years ago. I like the way your hands look.”

Very much. 

“How about my ears?” Gren asked. “That’s the feature that most used to strike me about elves. I mean, I like them. I really do.”

“It’s appreciated,” Ethari said, turning over to face Gren. “But it’s okay if you didn’t like the way elves looked at first. Both our sides have grown up hating each other, after all. There’s no point in pretending that this didn’t carry over into our physical perceptions of each other.”

Gren had been hoping to avoid that, but Ethari was right. They couldn’t start this relationship with lies to spare each others’ feelings. What kind of foundation would that build? It was only because Runaan and him had been so brutally honest with each other that their bond had grown at all. Gren wished that he could see Ethari’s face well, but he could only perceive contours in the gloom, the tent fabric blocking most of the moonlight. A curve of his nose, the dip of his eyes, the softness of his hair. The outline of his horns, which some humans speculated they used to head ram each other as if they were no more than wild beasts. 

“You’re right,” Gren said, his tongue heavy. “We do need to acknowledge that. It won’t do us any good to sweep it under the rug. When I first spoke to Runaan, I insulted him.”

“I thought you were an obnoxious liar,” Runaan said.

“And you told me to shut up.”

“You were very loud.”

“What were you doing?” Ethari asked.

“Singing,” Gren said.

“Trying to,” Runaan said.

Gren glared at him over his shoulder.

“Hey! You love my singing and you know it.”

“I will not confirm this statement. The point is, we’re even. We were both equally cruel to each other. I didn’t think any human was worthy of trust before I met you.”

“And I was shocked when Runaan brought you home,” Ethari said. “I couldn’t believe it when Runaan called you his friend. And not only because I’d never imagined that Runaan would ever be friendly with a human. In Xadia, humans are seen as evil. Butchers who only want to use us for dark magic. You’re reviled and feared.”

Runaan’s arm tightened around Gren, reassuring him that he no longer believed this. Gren touched his hand in thanks.

“Runaan told me,” Gren said, the horror of Viren’s storeroom trembling in his mind. “There are too many like that, unfortunately, so I can’t claim that your fears aren’t unfounded.”

“But we were wrong to think that you’re all like that.” Ethari touched his arm, then his cheek, pressing softly on his skin. “You’re nothing like I expected humans to be. And it couldn’t be more obvious how harmless Callum is, even if Rayla didn’t vouch for him.”

“It’s the same on the human side,” Gren said, rubbing Runaan’s hand with his thumb. “Parents tell their children that if they don’t behave, an elf will come in the night and take them away.”

Runaan grunted in disgust.

“It’s the same here. Go to bed or a human will get you.”

“Mine never told me that, thank the moon,” Ethari said.

“Mine did. It terrified me.”

Gren grimaced. 

“That explains a lot. Do you have toys, human figurines, where the humans look grotesque? We do. They make you guys look like monsters with fangs to suck out our blood.”

Runaan scoffed. Ethari sighed, sounding like he was rolling his eyes. He dropped his hand to Gren’s waist, slipping his hand between him and Runaan. 

“I have seen something like that,” he said. “There’s also a game where one of the children pretends to be a human and chases the other kids, acting as if they’re going to eat them. I, uh, used to play it.”

“I think most of us did,” Runaan said. 

Gren recoiled at the memory of tying sticks to his head to simulate horns and chasing his siblings around the yard. 

“We played that too,” he said sadly. “Only with the roles reversed. In hindsight it’s so cruel and senseless, but as kids we didn’t know anything. Even as adults we still didn’t. When I was assigned to the Breach with Amaya, I had a mix of fear and excitement. I’d never seen an elf before. I asked everyone about you. They said you were ruthless. Deadly. But also incredibly beautiful, like a poisonous flower. They warned me to never let an elf get too close, for if they didn’t try to kill me immediately, they’d use their wiles on me to charm me into lowering my guard and put me under their spell.”

“What a load of crap,” Runaan said, voice biting with disgust. 

“Most elves wouldn’t even dare go near a human,” Ethari said, just as disturbed. “Much less do something like that. Although… There are some who would.”

Runaan propped himself up on his elbow to look at Ethari. 

“That doesn’t mean—"

“No, it doesn’t. But there are stories of mages who used humans for nefarious purposes.”

Runaan stayed tense, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his arm tightened even further around Gren, this time protective instead of reassuring.

“So those stories are true,” Gren said, clinging to Runaan’s hand.

“Probably not all of them,” Runaan said, but he was subdued, doubting his own earlier conviction. 

“But many are,” Ethari said, firm. “And I keep thinking about our discussion two days ago. How magic was the only thing that could have saved Duren. When Xadia was one, how much help did elves give humans? How accurate are the accounts that we have of that time?”

“You want to ask a dragon to confirm them?”

“The one who brought us here might be willing to,” Gren said. “Though I don’t know if I’d want to see them again.”

“That off-putting, were they?” Ethari asked.

“They’re certainly the creepiest dragon I’ve come across,” Runaan said. “Not that I’m not grateful, but… Those connected to the Star Primal are… unpredictable.”

So elves had prejudices among themselves as well. 

“I have not heard much,” Runaan continued, “of cooperation between humans and elves in those times. Whether or not that’s accurate or revised by hindsight, I don’t know. But I can’t see our ancestors letting an entire population starve when we could have done something to help.”

Gren clenched his jaw, releasing the tension a moment later when it began to ache.

“The stories we have,” he said, “are of our ancestors scrambling to survive without magic, always behind elves in everything. The history books say that elves looked down on us for not having magic. That some interacted with us, but most stayed away, not thinking we were worth the time.”

Runaan grew still behind him. So Gren wasn’t the only one reminded of how nonchalantly Runaan had spoken of the wrongness of magicless Katolis, of the hollowness that pricked at his consciousness, making him uncomfortable. 

“They were wrong to think that,” Runaan said, sitting up and cradling Gren’s face in his hand. “I was wrong.”

Gren fell on his back, breathless by the fervor in Runaan’s grasp as he leaned over Gren, his hair brushing his collarbone. Gren wished he could see his face, but he knew precisely the expression that was staring at him right now. The regret. The fervent apology, not demanding forgiveness or even understanding. A simple admission of guilt and shame, and hope that Gren would look past his transgression. Ethari stayed quiet, probably sensing that this was the sequel to an old misunderstanding.

“I know,” Gren said, smiling tightly and touching Runaan’s cheek, digging his fingers in his hair. “I forgive you.”

Runaan sighed softly against his wrist and turned his head to brush his lips on Gren’s palm, the motion too faint to be a kiss, yet tantalizingly close. 

“Before we arrived at the Silvergrove,” Runaan said, addressing Ethari, “I told Gren that the lack of magic in Katolis felt wrong. I spoke without thinking. I didn’t mean to insult Gren, but I did.”

“No worries,” Gren said, taking Runaan’s hand in his as he lowered himself back on the cot. “That’s why we’re talking this out, right?”

“On that note,” Ethari said. “I want to apologize as well.”

“You don’t have to. You never said anything like that to me.”

“But I’ve thought it. This mentality hasn’t vanished in the last millennium. I am guilty of thinking that humans lacked something by not having magic. My sentiments were more akin to pity than disdain, but that doesn’t make it better.”

Gren sought out one of Ethari’s hands and held it on his chest along with Runaan’s. Could they see the grin on his face? Even in the midst of this heavy and bleak conversation, his heart thrilled at the apparent miracle of having them beside him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I forgive you too. I, for my part, have to ask your forgiveness for once thinking that elves were heartless monsters who couldn’t care less about human life. Or that you wanted to drink our blood.”

Ethari groaned.

“I hate that stereotype,” he said. “Of course we forgive you.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Runaan said, squeezing his hand. 

The lightness in Gren’s chest grew so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if he started floating.

“You know,” he said. “About what we were talking about earlier. The first time I saw a real elf, not some bad representation, I didn’t think your ears were ugly, or your horns, or any part of you. On the contrary. I found them beautiful. Also terrifying. They were trying to kill me and my fellow soldiers. Not exactly the best first impression.”

“I hardly made one myself,” Runaan grumbled.

“Neither did I. Let’s face it. Anyway, it was kind of like meeting that dragon. I both wanted to scream in terror and gape in awe at how gorgeous these elves were. Then their scary, metal melting weapons made me focus on the terror bit.”

Ethari huffed a short laugh. 

“That’s the one advantage sunforged weapons have over mine,” he said. “Although I think it’s cheating to destroy your enemy’s weapon to defeat them.”

“It could come in handy,” Runaan said, teasing.

“Don’t you start.” Ethari turned back to Gren, who could just barely catch the edge of his smile. “So you find elves gorgeous, do you?”

“Are you kidding me? Have you looked at yourselves?”

Ethari’s laugh tinkled in the dark.

“I guess I’m glad you didn’t find us freakish like you expected.”

“Before you ask,” Runaan said. “I did find humans’ short ears odd at first. But they have grown on me.” He stroked Gren’s right ear with his fingers, the sensation drawing a short giggle from Gren. “Very much so. And I guess there must be some use to that extra finger of yours, even if it is too small to do much.”

“Hey!” Gren exclaimed. “I bet we can grip things better than you.”

Runaan snorted in disdain.

“I doubt it.”

“I, for one,” Ethari said, leaning over Gren, “really like the spots on your face. I haven’t seen an elf with markings like that. The closest I can think of is pictures of Startouch elves.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Runaan said. 

“They’re called freckles,” Gren said, blushing again. At least they couldn’t see it in the dark. Unless they could. How good was moonshadow vision, anyway? “You really think I look like a Startouch elf? What do they look like?”

“Well, just in regards to your freckles,” Ethari said, skimming a finger down Gren’s nose and along his cheek, feeling the heat on his skin. “They’re covered in bright spots that look like stars. They shine brightest in the night. I’ve noticed your freckles grow more prominent after exposure to the sun.”

“That they do,” Gren said, unable to stop grinning. “I’ve always thought it rather annoying, actually” 

“Why?” Runaan and Ethari asked practically in unison, both bewildered. 

“Well, uh… Freckles aren’t considered attractive back home.”

“What?”

Runaan sounded as appalled as if someone had spit in his face.

“Why not?” Ethari sounded, no less dismayed. “They’re beautiful.” 

Gren shrugged. His cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much, but he couldn’t stop. 

“I don’t know. They just are. So I never thought much of them. I actually used to hate how much brighter they got in the sun, but I’m definitely changing my mind about them now with all this lovely praise.”

“Good,” Runaan said, his tone promising a sharp and violent rebuke to anyone who disagreed. “Don’t let anyone make you believe that you’re not beautiful.”

Oh. Wow. Runaan thought he was beautiful. And he was stroking Gren’s hair as if he were a delicate, precious thing. Meanwhile, Ethari was still touching his face, his thumb stroking along Gren’s jaw as he sidled closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, his lips lingering, enjoying the warmth of Gren’s flattered blush. 

Gren’s throat grew thick. He’d never been one to berate himself over his appearance over much, but being a farm boy with freckles on pale skin that flared up red every late summer at harvest time hardly won him any compliments. On the contrary. It had taken him years of crying when the bullies likened his spots to a plague rash or worse for him to grow a thick enough skin to tell himself that he wouldn’t let it bother him. That was a lie, but as he got older, the bullying stopped, so it was easier to shove the insecurity down when he looked in the mirror. But it hadn’t gone away, obviously, for here he was trying not to cry as two beautiful elves, beings of such exquisite beauty that his mouth ran wry with awe and wonder whenever he regarded the glow of their skin and the brightness of the delicate colors of their eyes, told him that he, and his freckles, that blight of his youth, were beautiful. 

Gasping, he turned his head toward Ethari until their lips met and kissed him for the first time, gripping his hand close to his heart. It was soft, mouth closed, no tongue, like Runaan had kissed his earlier. Ethari sank into him with a sigh, brushing Gren’s hair off his forehead and holding him close. When he pulled back, Gren tugged Runaan down on him and kissed him just as gently, but fervently, making sure that he knew how much his kind regard meant to him, how much he loved him. He clutched Runaan’s clothes, hand sliding through his hair, which spilled over his shoulder to graze the side of Gren’s face. He was so touched that words dried in his throat, all unworthy to express the depth of love and gratitude swelling in his heart, so he stayed silent, clinging to them as if he were adrift on the ocean and only they could keep him afloat. 

After a while, Runaan lied down beside him, draping his arm around Gren’s chest. 

“We should sleep,” he said. “We can continue tomorrow.”

Gren and Ethari murmured agreement and resettled themselves in the positions they had first adopted, Gren spooning Ethari while Runaan spooned him in return. Gren smiled into Ethari’s hair, not stopping until he drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Runaan awoke to Gren’s hair tickling his nose. Despite the annoyance, he smiled, glad to have this particular problem back in his life. On their travel to Xadia, he hadn’t analyzed his feelings regarding their sleeping arrangements besides the practical necessity of lessening the pain in his arm and requiring body warmth. Upon their return to the Silvergrove, he had been too wrapped up with joy at returning to Ethari’s side to notice its absence. A pinprick of guilt struck him at the knowledge that Gren had missed those moments, yet chose to endure their lack in silence out of respect for him and Ethari. They’d rectified that now. Gren had tucked himself even further against Ethari as he slept, resting his forehead on his shoulder, and clung to Runaan’s hand, his fingers twined loosely around his own. The way he’d kissed them last night had been so raw and needy that Runaan had wanted to punch everyone who had led this sweet soul to believe that he was anything other than an amazing, beautiful person. That included himself, he supposed. He’d just have to make up for his past idiocy by whatever means Gren determined. 

After they got up, he pulled Ethari aside and asked him if he was still happy with their arrangement. He was relieved to hear that he was, although he hadn’t doubted it with the way that Ethari had taken to Gren. 

“I can’t believe,” Ethari said, affronted, “that anyone would ever think Gren’s freckles ugly, much less tell him so.”

“Idiots, the lot of them,” Runaan said. “They’re his most striking feature, and he’s hardly deficient in that area.”

Ethari smiled, looking across the camp at Gren, who sat on the ground weaving something. His bright, orange hair shone in the sun and blew around his eyes in the breeze, looking as soft as it was to the touch. His freckles shone just as brightly, even more pronounced now that they had left the canopy of the forest and had entered the meadows that ringed the Midnight Desert. 

“He is very handsome,” Ethari said. “And cute. What do you think he’s making us?”

Gren’s weaving project was a result of not carrying anything that he deemed worthy of giving them as courtship gifts. They’d reassured him that he didn’t need to give them anything. The tradition wasn’t his own, and one usually didn’t engage in formal courting practices while traveling in such close company, anyway. If they were sticking to the rules, they wouldn’t have shared a tent last night, but the exchange of gifts was the only one that was observed these days by most. 

“I’m not going to not give you anything,” Gren had protested. “That would be rude. I just hope I can make you something you like.”

So he’d cut off several blades of grass and began to weave something small that he refused to let them see until it was finished. Runaan had been skeptical at first about an item made from grass, not that he would have insulted Gren by telling him so, but apparently it was a traditional craft in parts of Katolis to craft decorations and the like from plant matter. He’d reserve judgement. Either way, Gren making them gifts expressly for the occasion was a touching gesture, even if it wound up not being terribly pretty. 

Which he shouldn’t assume it wouldn’t be. Even fearing that it would be so was terribly unfair. He’d wait and see. 

“I have no idea,” Runaan said in response to Ethari’s question. “He’s putting a lot of effort into it.”

Blades of grass swished around in Gren’s hands as he arranged them how he wished, brow furrowed in concentration, muttering to himself when he didn’t like something. 

He continued his crafting in pieces as they continued on their way north, even lagging behind at times just enough so that Runaan and Ethari couldn’t see the mysterious object he was furiously fashioning in his lap. 

“One down!” he announced at lunch, putting away the finished item in his pack before they could catch more than a glimpse of yellow-green. “One to go.”

Evening fell and he still wasn’t satisfied with his second piece, so he apologized for not having them completed in time, as if they could possibly get cross with him for that. This time, they went straight to sleep without a sequel to the previous night’s sobering conversation, which they hadn’t followed up on during the day, either. 

The next morning, Gren continued to be hard at work completing his present, and finally unveiled it when they took their first break. The instant they dismounted their shadowpaws, he fished out the first item from his pack and approached them, hands behind his back, a cheery, yet nervous smile on his face. 

“They’re not moon opals or knives,” he said, breathless. “And I wish I’d had more time to make them nicer, but… I hope you like them.”

He held out his hands. On his palms sat twin disks about the size of his hands composed of various colored grasses and flower petals. The main body of one was green grass while the other was blue, but other colors were woven tightly around those strands, purple stem cutting across the blue, yellow long grass along the green. At first glance, the arrangements seemed haphazard, but upon closer inspection, the tight bumps of the contrasting grass reflected a familiar pattern.

“The moon?” Ethari asked, realizing half a second before Runaan. “You made the moon out of grass.”

Gren nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders hunched sheepishly. 

“I tried to match it the best I could from what I could remember. I’d hoped you wouldn’t guess why I was looking at it so much.”

He had been doing a lot of that, but as moonshadow elves, Runaan and Ethari would hardly find such fascination unusual. 

“They’re beautiful,” Runaan said, touched by the craftsmanship and attention that had gone into this work. The weaving was tight, purposeful, and skilled. Once again, Runaan had underestimated Gren. He must stop doing that. 

“Really beautiful,” Ethari said, pulling Gren into a hug. “Thank you.”

Runaan joined him, wrapping his arms around both of them. He kissed Gren’s forehead.

“I’m so happy you like them,” Gren said, clutching their backs. “I was a little worried.”

“You had no reason to be,” Runaan said. “We will treasure them.”

“We will,” Ethari said, nodding and smiling.

`````````````````

Their feeling of contentment lasted for the next couple of hours as they continued their voyage. 

Until they ran into the travelers coming from Lux Aurea. In the open scrublands, they were easy to spot in the distance, giving Gren plenty of time to don his hood and conceal his hands by draping his cloak over them in his lap where he clutched the reins. It was a small group, five merchants from one of the other moonshadow towns on their way back home after going to the large, spring fair in Lux Aurea, riding on shadowpaws, one of which pulled a cart filled with wares. When they got close, Runaan and Ethari made sure to keep Gren between them, who lowered his hood even further to hide his freckles. They all nodded at each other in greeting. 

“Good afternoon,” Ethari said, while Runaan studied their faces, but he didn’t recognize any of them.

“Good afternoon,” a couple of them said.

One of them, a tall, dark-skinned elf who looked close to Rayla’s age, rode to the front, frowning at Runaan’s face. Runaan kept his posture casual, but he nudged his shadowpaw a bit closer to Gren while making it look like it had been the shadowpaw’s idea.

“Are you Runaan the assassin?” the elf asked.

Runaan relaxed a fraction. They must have recognized him from his facial markings. As the leader of the moonshadow assassins, he wasn’t entirely unknown in this part of Xadia. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“I am,” he said. 

“The one who killed that human king?” another one asked excitedly. “The one that killed the dragon king?”

Tension curdled in Runaan’s stomach. He determinedly did not look in Gren’s direction. Their mission hadn’t been a secret in the Silvergrove, and word must have spread since Harrow’s death became known.

“Yes,” he said. “But I don’t like discussing my missions if you don’t mind.”

He was courteous, yet made it clear that he didn’t care if they minded or not.

“Sure,” the elf who had first spoken said, but she gazed in wonder at Runaan nonetheless, as if he were a hero returned home. Even if Runaan hadn’t been captured and met Gren, he would never have entertained the unpleasant notion. He meted out justice, not petty revenge, and certainly not for praise or recognition. Yes, he would have felt some measure of satisfaction in the fulfillment of his mission, but now all he could focus on was the way that Gren tensed in his saddle, head turning away. It rattled him like the moon being suddenly shrouded by a storm cloud. 

Runaan gripped his reigns more tightly, worry creeping at his spine. They had put this in the past, agreed to move forward, and yet he feared, knew, that the repercussions of his actions, justified as they had been, were far from over.

“Have you come from Lux Aurea?” he asked, diverting the conversation before one of them tried to push the matter despite his objection.

The lead elf nodded.

“We came from the spring fair,” they said. “But that wasn’t the most exciting thing that happened this trip. We bring news. The humans destroyed the Breach.”

They what?

“When?”

“A few days ago. The Sunfire army discovered that they had built an outpost on the Xadian side.”

Humans had invaded Xadia and set up camp in secret? How had this been allowed to happen? Gren must have known, yet he’d left that part out. 

“The humans,” the elf continued, “destroyed the Breach soon after. They must have known they didn’t have a chance against the Sunfire forces.”

The elf’s lip curled in disgust at the mention of the humans, as did several of the group. Runaan’s heart rebelled within him, furious at the humans for daring to claim any part of Xadia as their own, but those were Amaya’s forces. Gren’s best friend. His fellow soldiers. He had been part of this. 

That time was past. They had decided to move on. There had been violence on both sides. He would not blame Gren for what he’d done in the defense of his country before meeting him, just like Gren didn’t blame him.

“They didn’t all get away, though,” another of the merchants said with a triumphant air. “General Janai captured Amaya.”

Runaan froze, his turbulent thoughts vanishing, replaced by a cold trickle in his stomach. He looked at Gren, who gaped at the elf who had spoken, face stiff, striving not to show the shock and worry he was sure to be feeling.

“General Amaya of Katolis?” Ethari asked, barely able to restrain his own unease, though it thankfully could be interpreted as simple surprise. 

The elves nodded. “About time someone took care of her,” one muttered. 

Runaan kept very still. He couldn’t comfort Gren now. Couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t so much as look at him, for Gren’s composure might break at any moment. Runaan couldn’t draw any attention to him. 

“Is she still alive?” Runaan asked, affecting a tone of surprised curiosity.

The lead elf shrugged.

“Who knows,” they said. “I doubt she’ll live long.”

Queen Khessa’s contempt for humans was well known. Runaan had agreed with her once. An interrogation would follow, but from how Gren spoke of her, she didn’t seem like the type who would break under pressure and talk. The queen would have no reason or interest in keeping her alive if Amaya stayed quiet. 

“Thank you for the information,” Runaan said. “Forgive our brusqueness, but our journey is pressing. We wish you well on the rest of your travels.”

He urged his shadowpaw forward, herding Gren and Ethari around the merchants, who nodded back at him, replying,

“You as well.”

The urge to hurry away was excruciating, but they moderated their shadowpaws' steps to a casual trot until they were far enough away that they could break into a lopping jog without arousing suspicion. 

Once they had put sufficient distance between them, they slowed again to conserve the shadowpaws’ strength, and Runaan finally surrendered to his need to check on Gren, who had yet to remove his hood. Ethari was already pressed so close to him that their legs brushed together. Runaan did the same, touching his arm.

“You can’t assume anything from what they said,” he told him, trying to peer beneath Gren’s hood. 

“I can assume enough,” Gren said, glum, and shrugged off his hood. He was downcast, his gaze barely rising above his saddle, his habitual air of hope absent from his sagging posture. “Amaya has been fighting the sunfire elves for years before I joined the garrison. She’s killed a lot of them, as many of them as they’ve killed of ours. They hate her. If they think they can get any information out of her, they’re wrong. She won’t talk. Why would they keep her alive?”

“That doesn’t mean that she’s dead. We escaped, didn’t we?”

“From a regular, human dungeon. I heard that they imprison people in rings of fire. Is that true?”

Runaan’s jaw clenched. He replied with a short nod. A hollow sigh of despair escaped Gren’s throat before he bit his lip. The sound made Runaan ache. He cursed his helplessness, a sentiment he shared with Ethari, whose eyes stung as he met Runaan’s. 

“We don’t know the full story,” Ethari said, placing his hand between Gren’s shoulder blades. “Janai is honorable, or so I’ve heard. From what I know, sunfire elves don’t execute their prisoners so easily. She’s the queen’s sister. She has sway with her.”

“You haven’t seen her fight with Amaya,” Gren said, gaze lost in the distance as his lips twisted in a rueful grimace. He swallowed, eyes pinching and growing shiny with barely held back tears. He shook his head, sucking in a long, sniffling breath. “Maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t give up hope so easily. This is Amaya we’re talking about. If anyone can get out of a ring of fire, it’s her.”

Runaan reached for his hand on the reins and squeezed it.

“Exactly. You’re the hopeful one, remember? Who do you think carried me through after I’d already given up?”

Gren’s face brightened a bit with a lopsided smile. 

“Amaya sounds formidable,” Ethari said, wrapping his arm around Gren’s shoulders and tugging him into a half hug. “She can make it through.”

Gren ceased to despair, at least out loud, but his worry hung like a dark cloud among them, and his smiles were few and far between for the rest of the day. That night, they both wrapped up Gren in their arms, soothing them as best they could with soft touches until Gren’s breath evened out in a fitful sleep. 

The next day appeared to drag by despite the Storm Spire growing ever closer in the horizon. Trees grew sparser, the ground covered in short grasses that rippled a sedate green in this less fertile land. Their thoughts were as fixed on the spire protruding upward in the hilly landscape as on the city behind them, which grew more distant with every step. Detouring to Lux Aurea hadn’t been mentioned. What could they do there? Advocating for the life of a human general who had killed so many elves would be folly. Runaan was known in Lux Aurea as the leader of the most elite division of assassins in Xadia, which moonshadow elves had always been, but that reputation wouldn’t get him very far in this instance. And no amount of skill or illusions could aid Runaan in breaking someone out of a sunfire prison. There was nothing they could do but keep Gren’s spirits up, even if that meant expressing far more confidence in General’s Amaya’s ability to persevere in a land where the queen hated humans on principle. It might be cruel to buoy up Gren with false hope, but they couldn’t stand seeing his ever cheerful face downtrodden with despair. Gren was the most optimistic person Runaan had ever met. As foolhardy as Runaan thought his insistence on looking on the bright side to be, he wouldn’t allow the world to rob him of his happy spirit if he had anything to say about it. 

``````````````````

Ethari awoke with a gasp. His heart thundered in his chest, breath panting a raw stripe in his aching throat. He felt like he’d been screaming for hours. 

“It’s okay,” someone said, grabbing him. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Ethari flinched before he recognized Gren’s voice and body wrapped around him, gentle hands rubbing his back. Moaning, Ethari sagged against him, a sob hiccupping in his throat. He’d been buried in the dungeon, the one Runaan and Gren had been trapped in, only Andromeda, Skor, and Ram had been there too, bleeding from chains digging cruelly at their wrists, hanging from the cold, grey walls. Ethari had tried to pry them loose, but they slipped from his grasp, their forms turning into Callisto and Runaan, who was screaming as a dark form encased in purple shadows drained his magical essence from him. Ethari fought him, but the mage shoved him down a chasm that opened beneath his feet and he fell into a pit of bones. He pushed himself up and ran, but the corridors were empty, nothing but sickly green light. He screamed for Runaan, his voice echoing against the walls of his prison. 

But he wasn’t there. He was here, in Xadia, with Gren, sweet Gren, sweet, precious Gren who had pushed aside the millennia of hurt and pain elves and humans had inflicted on each other and saved Runaan. 

Ethari grasped Gren’s right hand and kissed it, covering his palm and knuckles, lavishing every finger with trembling gratitude. 

“Thank you,” he whispered over and over in a heady loop until he looked up and met Gren’s eyes and his heart chilled again, for Gren was regarding him with dismay. Ethari frowned, an apology springing to his lips, but what for? He was too shaken to think, to see what later became obvious. 

The tent flap opened, cutting a streak of sunlight across them both, soon blocked by Runaan’s form.

“What happened?” he asked, kneeling beside Ethari, concern radiating off him. 

Gren shrank back and Runaan took his place, hugging him close, wiping his hair from his eyes and tipping up his chin to get a good look at him. Ethari gripped his back, fingers pressing into his flesh before he forced himself to loosen his grip to not hurt him. 

“Nightmare,” Ethari gasped, rising up on his knees to press his forehead against Runaan’s, just catching his fallen expression before Ethari closed his eyes and focused on Runaan alive in his arms. Runaan rubbed his back and head, fingers brushing gently through his hair, catching every so often in the tangles that had begun to accumulate in their journey, but every tug was further proof that Runaan was here and that the visions that had assaulted him were no more than illusions. 

“I’m here,” Runaan murmured, his breath wonderful on Ethari’s lips. “I’m right here. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

The words washed over Ethari, the most soothing balm. He leaned into them, grateful and happy, fighting the urge to cry. He failed, for wetness touched his cheeks, brushed away by caring fingers, which Ethari kissed, taking Runaan’s hand in his own like he’d taken Gren’s earlier, cherishing every digit until his breath settled and his tears stopped. By then they were sitting against each other, Ethari leaning on Runaan’s chest, Runaan’s other arm wrapped around his torso, hand spread on his stomach. 

“I’m okay now,” Ethari said, indulging in one more moment of closeness before pushing himself to his feet and out of the tent into the sunlight, pulling Runaan along with him. 

“You sure?” Runaan asked, holding onto Ethari’s hand while studying his face.

Ethari nodded and gave Runaan a quick peck on the cheek. He looked around for Gren, who was petting the shadowpaw the furthest from them, his body half angled away. 

When had he left the tent? Ethari had been so addled that he hadn’t noticed. But he remembered the look on Gren’s face when he’d thanked him. Was he still upset? Why? 

Oh. Did Gren still think… 

“I need to talk to Gren,” Ethari said. “Can you pack up the tent?”

“Sure.” Runaan frowned at Gren. “Is something wrong?”

“A misunderstanding, that’s all. It’s fine.”

“Okay.”

Runaan turned toward the tent, but his frown remained. Great, now he was worried, too. How had Ethari messed up so much just by waking up from a stupid nightmare? 

Gren turned to him as he approached and looked him over with concern.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

Ethari nodded.

“I’m okay. I haven’t had a bad dream like that in a while. I was really shaken up when I woke up.”

“Yeah.” Gren crossed his arms, yet it was more like he was hugging himself. “You were whimpering before you woke up. I was worried.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“No, it’s fine. Please, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re better now.”

Gren’s smile was bright and sincere, yet dimmer than usual. 

“Thank you,” Ethari said, taking half a step closer to him. “Gren, I saw the way your face fell when I thanked you as I kissed your hands.”

And now his face fell again, embarrassment reddening his cheeks as he looked down, guilt and hesitation shining in his eyes. 

“Do you still think,” Ethari continued, softly, being very careful not to sound accusing, “that I entered into this relationship out of a sense of debt to you?”

Gren opened his mouth much too quickly, a denial flying to his lips, no doubt, but he sighed instead, dropping his arms to his hips and behind his back. 

“Maybe?” he said, wincing. “You swore that it’s not the case. I know how important oaths are in your culture. I don’t mean to doubt you. I really don’t. It’s just… We’d only known each other for a few days, and during half of that time you kept trying to give me things and treating me like royalty, acting like you did owe me even after I said that you really don’t have to do that. So when you thanked me right after having a nightmare, I figured it was about Runaan, and it was about Runaan. It’s hard for my mind to not go there.” Gren’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m not calling you a liar. Please don’t think I am. I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not.” Ethari placed his hands on Gren’s upper arms, squeezing gently in an attempt to soothe him, but Gren was having trouble meeting his eyes. “I don’t blame you for feeling this way. If I’d been aware, I wouldn’t have done that knowing you might see it that way. Gren, I will always be grateful to you for helping Runaan. I can’t not be. And, yes, at first, before we left the Silvergrove, I did feel obligated to repay you in whatever way I could, but I don’t feel that way anymore. My thanking you when I woke up… It wasn’t that. It was gratitude. That’s all. And appreciation. For you. Neither I nor Runaan would have offered to be with you out of anything other than genuine interest.”

“I know,” Gren said, but it sounded like he was saying it more for Ethari’s benefit, or as if he were trying to convince himself. “I do. Really. Please. Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. It’s not like I would blame you if you thought I was only in this for Runaan. Which is not true. I wouldn’t have… Of course I’m interested in you too. Shit.”

Gren buried his face in his hands, groaning and pulling away from Ethari.

“That’s not what I meant to say. I’m babbling. Ignore me, please. I’m making it worse.”

“You’re not.”

Ethari reached for him, but Gren was closing himself off, curling into himself. Ethari kicked himself. He was the one making things worse. 

“Maybe we should backtrack,” he said, tugging at his hair. “We’re both new at this. Runaan and I, we’ve never joined with someone who was in love with either of us. I don’t know if either of us would have thought of doing this if I hadn’t realized that you love him. I won’t lie to you and say I would have, because I don’t know. And maybe my interest in you was, is, heightened by what you did for him. For us. Maybe you’re right and I do feel indebted to you in the back of my mind. But if that’s the case, I promise, I don’t mean it to be so. I wouldn’t do this just for that. I wouldn’t let my husband be with someone else just for that, either.”

Gren sighed and brushed his hands harshly up through his hair, squeezing his nape. 

“I didn’t think you would,” he said, softly, apologetic. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I did.”

Ethari shook his head.

“It didn’t. Look, we both love Runaan. Maybe we should admit that that’s what first brought us here.”

Gren nodded slowly, gaze flickering somewhere behind Ethari before turning away. Runaan was probably growing restless trying to figure out what they were arguing about. Ethari resisted the urge to turn to check on him. If Runaan noticed, he might give up on being patient and demand to know what was going on, and it would be better if he weren’t involved just yet. 

“I want to be with both of you,” Gren said, meeting Ethari’s eyes, pleading with himself to get this right. “I hadn’t considered it before you suggested it, but I did find you very attractive from the moment I saw you.”

Ethari smiled softly.

“Between that and how Runaan spoke of you on the way to Xadia, I understood why he loves you so much. I didn’t resent you. I’m not the jealous type. And I was flattered that you wanted to be with me, both of you. Although I didn’t…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t understand why you would want to at first if it wasn’t just gratitude.”

“I can see why you’d think that. I’m sorry. Maybe we pushed too soon. But I saw the pain you were in. We didn’t want you to keep thinking that you had no chance to be with Runaan, even if it meant being with me, too.”

Ethari crossed his arms, a surprising flush of insecurity crawling in his belly. Gren looked up at him, brow creasing in surprise.

“You thought that I was only putting up with you to be with him?” he asked, pained by the possibility.

This in itself soothed Ethari’s sudden nerves. 

“I considered it. I hoped it wasn’t so, but I did think it likely. To be honest, Runaan and I agreed that if it seemed that things weren’t progressing evenly between us, all of us, then we’d talk to you and reassess. Taking into account how little the two of us know each other versus the two of you, of course.”

“You can break things off any time if you think I’m only interested in Runaan.”

Ethari nodded.

“Or you can do it, if you think I’m not interested in you. Which I am, for the record. Love may not be part of it yet, but I do care about you. Yes, I will forever be grateful to you, but I like you. I love how cute you look in the morning with your hair ruffled every which way. And the way your boundless optimism makes Runaan smile. You know how few people he smiles at? Much less how many make him laugh?”

Gren smiled, looking back at Runaan.

“I almost cheered the first time that happened.”

Ethari smiled as well, remembering how astonished he’d been to see Runaan bending in delighted laughter one time that Ethari accidentally dropped flour all over himself. 

“I was shocked when he laughed for me, too,” he said. “You make him happy. And you make me happy with your boundless enthusiasm for everything around you. I’ve always known Xadia is beautiful, but you take your home for granted, you know. Seeing you excited over every mushroom and tall tree, and the sun birds with their six eyes, it makes me see the wonder of it in a whole new way.”

Gren was blushing again, not that he’d really stopped. 

“Your pretty freckles are a nice plus, too,” Ethari continued, grinning.

Gren bit his bottom lip, looking as flattered as it was possible to be. 

“No one had complimented my freckles before,” he said. 

“I can’t understand why. They’re adorable.”

The laugh that emerged from Gren’s mouth could almost be called a giggle. 

“It’s my turn now to tell you what I like about you. Liking my freckles is way up there. I really appreciate that. You don’t know how much. I already told you you’re handsome. You really are. You’re really nice. Your weapons are, well, scary, but also amazing. The knife you gave me is beautiful.”

“It’s just a kitchen knife,” Ethari said, wishing he could have given him something better.

“It’s the prettiest kitchen knife I’ve ever seen. Maybe royalty back home would eat with something like this, and it still wouldn’t be this pretty. You’re really talented. And you’re fun to be around. I like being with you. I’m glad you two told me when you did. I wasn’t, well…” Gren shrugged, casting his eyes down. “I wasn’t doing great. You don’t need to be afraid that I’m putting up with you to be with Runaan.”

“Neither do you need to fear that I’m offering you some sort of reward.”

Gren looked steadily into his eyes and nodded, grinning. Smiling back, Ethari pulled Gren into a hug, warming at how eagerly it was returned. 

Runaan didn’t look remotely happy at being left out of the conversation when they finally joined him. He was frowning, his jaw set in the way it always was when he was trying not to show his impatience, and he regarded Ethari and Gren with anxious confusion. 

“Is everything alright now?” he asked. “That looked serious.”

Ethari touched his neck, squeezing gently at his nape.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “We just needed to work out some stuff. Don’t worry. It’s all sorted out.”

“Yeah,” Gren said, wrapping his arm around Ethari’s waist to reinforce the point before he kissed Ethari’s cheek. His cheeks were still red, but he grinned from ear to ear, his earlier worry gone. Runaan narrowed his eyes at them, considering whether to press the issue, but he grunted pensively, letting the matter drop. 

“Okay,” he said, still perplexed. “We should go then.”


	14. Chapter 14

It was a short ride to the Storm Spire, which had loomed above them since last night. If they’d had one more hour of daylight, they could have arrived then, but they’d just run out. It was better to get there during the day, in any case, for it was vital that one of the residents be aware of their presence or they wouldn’t reach the peak. Runaan could since he had been here before, but Ethari and Gren lacked the enchantment necessary to breathe in the thin air so high above the clouds. So as anxious as they were to see Rayla and the princes, they were forced to wait one more night.

The sight of the spire itself was much more gratifying than what they found frozen before it. They ordered their shadowpaws to halt, stunned by the giant rock that had once been King Avizandum, one paw reaching out for the spire and the egg that had lied helpless within, the people who were supposed to protect it, Rayla’s parents, fled to save their own skin. Runaan had been unwilling to describe the horrifying sight to Ethari after returning from the spire with news of his mission, the rage in his eyes enough incentive for Ethari to not want to know. But now the dead king stood in front of him, a human spear driven through his chest, and the anger that had burned in Runaan’s eyes haunted him too. 

Yet it wasn’t as simple as despising humans for the violence they had wreaked on Xadia. 

“That’s Queen Sarai’s spear,” Gren said, peering up at the long shaft jutting out above them. “Amaya told me.”

Queen Sarai, whom Gren assured them had been against killing the magma titan, yet had invaded Xadia anyway. And in so doing had helped save an entire country from starvation. Gren’s best friend’s sister. And the mother of the human princes who Rayla had befriended. Nothing was as simple as it had once been, and even that apparent simplicity had been an illusion, something which, as moonshadow elves, they should have been aware of. 

“I’m sorry this happened,” Gren said, downcast. 

His shadowpaw sensed his distress and mewed, raising its head to bump against his hands. He pet it distractedly. 

“The past is the past,” Runaan said, his jaw set, eyes like steel, yet he was holding his anger at bay for Gren’s sake, as Ethari did. “We have to move forward. That’s what you said.”

Gren nodded sadly.

“It’s a lot harder to do when it's staring you in the face,” he said. 

Clutching the reins so hard it hurt, Ethari turned away from the king and pushed forward toward the spire. 

“And yet we must try,” he said. 

The clouds that had awoken in the sky thinned as they began their ascent up the narrow path that wound all the way around the spire, bathing them in sunlight that didn’t manage to cut through the cool wind that buffeted them as they climbed. Their hair whipped around their faces, but that was the least of their problems, for they reached the gate with the dire warning inscribed on it that Runaan had told them about, and had yet to come across any mage who could enact the required spell. 

“Prepare to draw your last breath,” Ethari read the elven script etched on the archway straddling the path. “How draconic to issue an instruction in the form of a threatening riddle.”

“Are you sure you can’t do the spell yourself?” Gren asked Runaan, who rolled his eyes.

“For the last time, I’m not a mage. Crushing opals to cast illusions does not make me a mage.” Raising his hand, he tried to draw a rune in the air. Nothing happened. “See?”

“Okay, okay, I believe you.”

But Gren kept grinning. Ethari ducked his head to hide his own smile from Runaan, who huffed in distaste at them both and pushed forward through the arch. 

“Come on,” he said. “We still have some distance before the air starts to thin. If no one shows up to greet us before then, I’ll go up alone.”

They didn’t get that far before the tell-tale sound of metal clinked behind them further down the spire. Gren heard it first. He halted his shadowpaw in its tracks and raised his hand, urging them to stay still. Ethari and Runaan heard it then. The sound was rhythmic, thin plates of metal sliding and clashing against each other.

“Armor,” Ethari whispered. 

“Just one,” Runaan said. The three of them crowded together, keeping their voices as low as possible lest they be carried in the breeze down to the soldier below. “I can’t hear anyone else.” 

Nor were there signs of anyone on the plains below. A lone soldier, or where their companions more silent than them? But it didn’t make sense. They weren’t doing a good job at being stealthy. The closer they got, the louder and more ragged were their steps. 

They heard panting now. Whoever it wasn’t couldn’t know that three armed people awaited them further up the slope. Shifting his shadowpaw to face the oncoming threat, Runaan held out his arm toward Ethari, silently asking for his bow. His left arm, which was still pink in spots and which he’d winced at raising too high just this morning. And yet here he was acting as if he could wield a bow to the best of his ability. Ethari shook his head and took the bow from his back, notching an arrow himself. Runaan’s eyes narrowed in frustration, but he grunted and unsheathed Skor’s sword. Gren’s hand hesitated on the hilt of his sword. Ethari tried to meet his eyes and indicate that it wasn’t necessary for him to draw it out. Ethari and Runaan had this covered. But Gren kept his gaze firmly forward and straightened his back, raising his chin. He unsheathed the sword and held it firmly, though his brow remained furrowed. The three of them faced the path below, their shadowpaws as still and silent as them, understanding without orders that they must be on their guard. 

The painting grew louder. Whoever it was wasn’t accustomed to hiking up such slopes. Ethari raised the bow and arrow as the footsteps rounded around the corner, a wisp of blonde hair materializing into a young man covered in armor bearing the seal of Katolis on his chest. His head was bare, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his chin was covered in a night’s worth of stubble. 

“You,” Runaan growled. 

Ethari glanced at him. Runaan glared at the soldier in recognition and fury. Gren also knew him, although he looked less angry, yet no less cautious. The instant the man saw them, he drew his sword and held it up in defense, matching Runaan’s glare with fire of his own. Ethari’s hold tightened on his bow, pulling the arrow back in readiness. 

“The hell are you doing here?” the man, practically a boy, asked. 

“What are we… This is our home. You’re the invader. Scouting for that vile father of yours, are you?”

Father? Viren? This was his son? Anger burned in Ethari’s stomach.

“You invaded us first.”

“We did not, you ignorant toad.”

The soldier frowned, considering.

“Well, I guess there has been a lot of back and forth. That’s not the point. You killed my king.”

Furious pain burned in the boys’ voice. 

“Soren, I understand,” Gren said. “I was as angry as you are. But it’s so much more complicated than that. And last I knew, your father wasn’t stirring up a war to avenge him, but for his own ends. Else he wouldn’t have thrown me in prison when I was tasked with finding the princes. Is that why you’re here? Are you chasing them to take them back home? Or worse?”

Soren huffed in displeasure.

“That’s not why I’m here. I left my father, okay?” His sword lowered a fraction. “I used to believe that when he ordered you do to do bad things, it was all for the greater good, because he’s really good at making you think that. But they’re not. They’re just evil. I’m sorry about throwing you in the dungeon. That was wrong. That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for Ezran.”

“Shouldn’t you say King Ezran?” Runaan growled.

“Ez doesn’t mind me calling him by his name. And who are you to correct me? You killed his dad. Gren, what are you doing with this guy, anyway?”

Before anyone had a chance to answer, they were startled by the sudden flapping of massive wings. A crimson dragon swooped down toward them. Their presence had finally been noted. Everyone lowered their weapons. 

“Oh, shit!” Soren cried out, shrinking against the rock and sheathing his sword as the dragon landed behind them, facing them all. Why hadn’t he stayed on his guard? 

“It’s you,” Soren continued, crestfallen. “Come to finish me off, huh? I guess that’s fair.”

So Soren and this dragon had fought each other before. The dragon growled deep in her throat at Soren, but instead of attacking, she lowered her head to reveal a small boy on her back, his frizzy hair swaying in the wind, brows wrinkled in surprise and concern as he looked between them. His gaze lingered uncertainly on Runaan, who averted his gaze, looking uncomfortable.

“King Ezran,” Gren cried out, amazed. “I thought you were in Katolis.”

So this was Ezran, the boy Runaan had been meant to kill. He was so young, barely ten years old. Nausea churned in Ethari’s stomach, similar to when Runaan had hesitatingly admitted the full scope of his mission two months ago. 

“I was,” King Ezran said. “It’s a long story. I bet you have long stories, too.  
We should wait until we’re up there to tell them all.”

Another presence flew down between them, a skywing elf who’d transformed his arms into large, brown feathered wings. This must be Ibis, the mage who often visited the spire in the service of the queen. He had been taking care of her since she’d fallen ill. Runaan had met him when he came here. His eyes narrowed as he took them in, curiously assessing them. 

“I would say that seeing you is unexpected,” he said, “but after seeing the dragon prince arrive with the aid of human princes, it’s difficult to be surprised. Although, it is odd seeing you in human company, Runaan.”

“You’re no more surprised than I am,” Runaan said, glancing at Gren affectionately. “I’ll explain later. This is Gren, our partner, and my husband Ethari.”

Ibis’s brow rose at the mention of Gren being their partner, but he didn’t comment. 

“I’m Ibis,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “Mage of the skywing elves.”

“I’m Soren,” Soren said with a cheery wave. “Hi. I’m officially defecting to the good side.”

“It’s good to see you, Soren,” King Ezran said, smiling at him before turning to the rest of them, his smile wilting with worry as he glanced at Runaan. “I’m Ezran. Um, only one of you doesn’t know me.”

He looked at Ethari, who dipped his head in acknowledgment. 

“I’m pleased to meet you, King Ezran,” he said. “Gren has told us a lot about you.”

“Oh. That’s nice. It’s nice to see you, Gren. I’m surprised you’re here. And you don’t have to call me king. Ezran is fine.”

“Ezran,” Runaan said. 

He sat much too stiffly, clutching the reins in discomfort, but his gaze was firm as he met Ezran’s eyes. Ethari wanted to reach for him in support, but Gren sat between them, who for his own part looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. But he leaned ever so slightly toward Runaan, not backing away in the presence of his new king. Ethari took heart in that. 

“I should have listened,” Runaan continued, “when you and Rayla showed me the dragon prince’s egg. I apologize for how I acted. And for what I did after.”

He inclined his head. Ezran stared at him, his discomfort growing by the second. He was only a boy facing his father’s killer. Ethari wouldn’t blame him if he refused to let any of them be in his presence ever again. He sucked in a breath through his nose, sniffling.

“Rayla told us what those ribbons she had were about.” Ezran didn’t look at them, his voice so small, yet trying to be strong. “She would have lost her hands. You had them on your arms.”

“Yes. We didn’t know there was any other way to get them off. There shouldn’t have been. That is their purpose.”

“Then you shouldn’t have put them on at all.”

Ezran’s voice sharpened, his grief and anger leaking through the strong front he was striving to hold onto to. He was a brave kid, much too young to deal with any of this. Runaan’s head dipped further.

“Gren has already made that point more than clear. I won’t insult your grief by explaining the reasons why we have used them for centuries.”

“There’s a lot of things we’ve all being doing for centuries which we shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t disagree. Gren has opened my eyes to a lot of things that I’d never considered. I should have. I’m not trying to excuse it.”

Ezran’s mouth tightened. He didn’t speak for a moment.

“We should get up there,” he said, sounding like he wanted nothing more than to be done with this and go off somewhere to be alone. 

Ibis drew a rune in the air and said “Ventus spiralis”. The enchantment that would allow them to breathe in the thin air above washed over them in a sharp gust of air. 

“Soren,” Ezran called to him. “You ride up with me. I’ll send Pyrrah down for the rest of you in a second.”

“Uh…” Soren muttered, grimacing at the dragon, which continued to scowl at him as if considering having him for dinner. “Are you sure about that?”

“It’s okay. Pyrrah promises not to hurt you because you’re my friend.”

Soren continued to peer at Pyrrah with dread, but he edged closer to her.

“Sorry about all that earlier,” he told her. “Please don’t eat me.”

He climbed up behind Ezran and in a moment they flew off towards the peak. Runaan dismounted and slung his pack over his shoulder.

“The shadowpaws will reach the peak alright on their own,” he said. 

Ethari and Gren followed suit, Ethari resisting the urge to wrap up Runaan in a hug only due to Ibis’s presence. His husband detested looking weak before anyone. 

“That went better than I dreaded,” Gren murmured, gazing up to where the dragon had vanished through the clouds. “I didn’t know what to expect, really.”

“His father’s death,” Ibis said, approaching them, “hasn’t been broached yet. He and his brother seem very determined to leave the hostilities between elves and humans in the past.”

“When did they get here?” Ethari asked. 

“Last night. Ezran tried to rouse Queen Zubeia from her sleep as if she hadn’t ordered his father’s death. It’s a very peculiar situation. I don’t know what to make of it, or how to broach the subject, if I even should. But it’s out in the open now.”

He looked cautiously at Runaan, who kept his gaze fixed in the distance as if avoiding everyone’s eyes somehow hid the pain and insecurity he was feeling. Ethari went to him and stood by his side, not satisfied until Runaan glanced at him, sighing, yet nodding at him that he was alright. He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t accept reassurance right now. 

Pyrrah returned soon, dropping on the ledge above them and crouching down for them to climb onto her back. Ibis transformed his arms back into wings and flew off beside them up to the peak to a wide landing platform carved from the rock before the entrance where Rayla, Callum, and little Zym were waiting, along with a small, bioluminescent amphibian. The instant that Pyrrah landed, Ethari rushed across the platform to hug Rayla, who met him halfway, burying her face in his chest. Only a week had passed since they’d seen each other, yet it had been long enough for the world to tilt in its axis. 

“I couldn’t believe,” Rayla said, “when Ezran told us you were here..”

She pulled back, looking over Ethari at Runaan, who had stopped a few paces away from them, his face a turmoil of emotion. Regret and shame shone in his eyes as he looked at Rayla, who sucked in a trembling breath as she stood upright, like a soldier awaiting a reprimand from her commander.

“Runaan, I—”

Runaan raised a hand to stop her.

“Rayla, please let me go first. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. And I certainly shouldn’t have attacked you. I shouldn’t have brought you on the mission at all. Ethari warned me that you weren’t suited for this line of work, but I didn’t listen. Your failing is on me. It was my responsibility, both as your leader and your caretaker.”

Rayla’s face crumpled, tears spring to her eyes. Ethari squeezed her shoulder, relieved when she ran to Runaan and hugged him tightly. A rare, pained breath escaped Runaan as he hugged her back, sinking his chin on the top of her head. Ethari gave them a moment alone before the emotions knotted in his throat overtook him and he joined them, holding his little family tight in his arms, wishing he could keep them safe forever. The air around them was hushed, no one speaking a word, some people’s eyes upon them while others looked away to give them privacy, but Gren shouldn’t be one of them. Yet he stood in profile with the princes, the uncertainty that Ethari had thought he’d weeded out this morning back on his face as he averted his eyes the instant that he caught Ethari looking. 

When they all pulled away, Ethari waved Gren over. Gren hesitated, moving slowly toward them.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said. 

He studied Runaan, who sniffed loudly. Rayla was brushing her tears from her eyes, but her smile was as bright as the sun. Callum hovered nearby, regarding Rayla with concern and Runaan with dread, but he didn’t approach. 

“There’s a lot we need to tell you,” Ethari said. “But first, Rayla, we have news.”

He reached out his hand for Gren, who took it, a shy smile on his face as he looked around trying to gauge everyone’s reactions. Runaan grabbed his other hand.

“Gren and I were imprisoned in the same dungeon,” Runaan said. “He helped me escape.”

“We helped each other,” Gren said.

A fond smile of remembrance tugged on Runaan’s face. 

“That’s right. Gren had what I considered a wild notion of making peace between elves and humans, starting with me. He wanted to follow in the princes’ example.” Runaan glanced at Ezran and Callum. “We drew a truce between us and became friends. Close friends. I wouldn’t have made it to Xadia without him. Also, on our way here from the Silvergrove, we exchanged courtship gifts.”

All the children looked wide-eyed between them, but Ethari’s attention was only for Rayla, who gaped at them with her mouth in a wide “oh”. 

“It’s sudden,” Ethari said. “We know. It’s only been a couple of days. But we really like each other. It might take you some time to get used to it. That’s okay.”

“Oh, no,” Rayla interrupted him, shaking her head excitedly. “That’s fine. Actually, it makes my announcement a lot easier.” Sliding next to Callum, she took his hand, confirming Ethari’s suspicions from a week ago. “Callum and I are also together.”

Runaan frowned in surprise.

“You’re what now?” Soren asked, narrowing his eyes at them. “Oh, I knew you had a thing back at that nexus place. I knew it! Although, you were tripping all over yourself over Claudia, but this…” 

He pointed at Rayla and Callum, twirling his finger in a suspicious circle. Rayla rolled her eyes with a disgusted expression. 

“Congratulations,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You figured it out. You’re a genius.”

Soren drew himself to his full height and planted his hands at his hips with a gratified look on his face. 

“I am sometimes, aren’t I?”

Did he think that Rayla was being serious? Not the best at grasping sarcasm, this one. 

“Why were you in the dungeons, Gren?” Ezran asked. 

He hugged the amphibian to his chest, which was glowing blue and purple and frowning at them balefully. Zym sat at his side, staring at them in curiosity.

“Your Aunt Amaya tasked me with finding you and Prince Callum,” Gren said. “Viren had other plans.”

Soren rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. 

“We know about that part,” Callum said, glum, looking down. 

“About Viren,” Soren said, dropping his arms beside him dejectedly. “I have other, not so good news.”

“Is the human army in Xadia?” Runaan asked. 

A flurry of surprised exclamations resounded around them. Soren goggled at them.

“How did you know that?” he asked accusingly.

“A dragon told us,” Gren said, “that at least three armies were marching toward Katolis. It was easy to suppose that Viren had something to do with it and that they intended to invade Xadia.”

“A dragon told you?” Callum asked. 

“Callum, focus,” Rayla told him before turning to Soren. “Is that true? Is your father invading Xadia?”

Soren lowered his head despondently and nodded. 

“So he found a way to get through the Breach,” Runaan said. “We heard it was destroyed.”

“It was. But then dad… Viren… Did some really scary magic and parted the lava and froze it so we could get through. King Florian and Queen Fareeda are dead. King Ahling was attacked too. He might be dead by now for all I know. Duren was also attacked, but Queen Aanya is fine. They say it was elven assassins, but I think my dad did that too.”

“He must have,” Ibis said. “Runaan and his people were the last assassins to be sent to the human kingdoms.” 

His face darkened as he thought it over. A chill shot up Ethari’s spine.

“What is it?” he asked.

Ibis hesitated, his eyes wary as he looked between Runaan, Ethari, and Rayla. 

“Four attacks on four kingdoms designed to mimic that on Katolis. Dark mages can resurrect a shadow of a magical being from their ashes. Corrupted souls without will, fully subservient to the mage who conjured them.”

Ethari gasped. Four attacks. Four fallen assassins in Viren’s grasp. 

“You’re saying…” Runaan uttered, gaping with horror. “He used my assassins as puppets to further his ends?”

Rayla cried out, covering her mouth, staring in horror. Ethari went to her and hugged her close, pressing her head to his own trembling chest, fury and grief aching in his veins, squeezing his lungs so painfully that he couldn’t breathe. Runaan appeared rooted to the spot, but he sucked in air as if his lungs struggled to retain it. Ethari wanted to go to him, but he didn’t want to leave Rayla, even though Callum was supporting her too, his hands on her shoulders and back. Gren stepped in, touching Runaan’s back and reaching down his arm to clasp a limp hand in both of his. Ethari was so grateful for him.

“He must have,” Soren said, his voice small. “He burned their bodies. Stored the ashes in that creepy storage room of his.”

“After he cut their horns off,” Runaan growled, his left hand curling into a fist. 

“What?” Ethari gasped.

“No,” Rayla moaned. 

Runaan flinched with regret. He came towards them, clutching Gren close to him, and met Ethari’s and Rayla’s eyes with furious tears in his own. 

“I hadn’t wanted to tell you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have now. I’m sorry.”

About not telling Rayla, Ethari agreed, but he did not appreciate Runaan withholding things to protect him or because it was too painful. But now wasn’t the time to discuss this, not in front of Rayla, especially not in this state. Ethari grabbed the back of his neck and tugged Runaan to him, forehead to forehead, breath to breath, wishing he never had to let him go into danger ever again. Gren’s arm pressed between them as Runaan kept grasping his hand. He slipped his other arm around Ethari’s waist, holding him tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“It gets worse,” Soren said after a while, which felt like a second, but was probably longer. “Viren did something to the army. Something weird. Really weird. The weirdest and most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen him do.”

“What?” Ezran asked. “What did he do?”

Soren grimaced, wringing his hands.

“We went to Lux Aurea. Well, dad did. Alone. I have no idea what he did there, but the sky suddenly went black and he came back with a scepter with an orb in it. It looked like the primal stone he used to have, only instead of a storm, it was just black. He said he was going to give us this great gift of the elves’ power and he…” His voice caught, his eyes haunted. “He turned the whole army into monsters with that scepter and his staff. Light shot out of them, turning everyone into these hulking things with glowing eyes and lines running across their bodies as if they were made of fire. Kind of like sunfire elves, only not. They even growled. It’s like they’re not human anymore. Dad keeps talking about how he’s doing all this for the good of humanity, but then he turned all these people into that. That’s when I ran.” 

Soren hugged himself, head lowering almost to his chest. 

“I tried to get Claudia to come with me, but she wouldn’t leave him. I couldn’t think of what else to do but come here and warn you.”

“How close is the army now?” Ibis asked. 

Soren shrugged. 

“Not far. I rode all night.”

“I’ll investigate, see how much time we have left before they’re upon us.”

Ibis extended his arms and transformed them back into wings, taking to the air and to the west. 

“What happened in Katolis, King Ezran?” Gren asked. “How did Viren gain power?”

Ezran’s face sank atop his amphibian’s head.

“Evenere, Del Bar, and Neolandia sent armies. They wanted Katolis to declare war against Xadia and let them through. I wouldn’t let them. So they said they were going to attack us. Thousands would have died. I couldn’t let that happen. So I made a deal. I guess it didn’t prevent death, after all. I abdicated. In exchange, everyone who was tired of fighting could leave the army unmolested. Viren took over as king. It was all I could think of to do. I couldn’t have all those people die in my name.”

Gren went to him and crouched down before him. 

“You did good, Ezran,” he said. “It was an impossible situation, one you certainly shouldn’t be expected to shoulder at your age.”

If Ethari weren’t beside Runaan, he wouldn’t have noticed hos his jaw stiffened, but it wasn’t a rebuke against him. Gren wouldn’t be so callous. It was a simple fact. A boy so young should never have to make life and death decisions for entire nations. 

“For what it’s worth,” Gren continued, “you’re still my king. I don’t care what jumped up mage has the crown on his head.”

“That goes for me too,” Soren said, standing beside Gren. 

Ezran smiled at them.

“Thanks, guys.”

Zym hopped excitedly, letting out a happy _yip_ that managed to put a smile on Ethari’s face despite the pain tearing at his heart. Runaan looked at him, too, fixed with wonder and a desperate urge to hope in the midst of his sorrow and fury. Slowly, Runaan crouched down before him and stretched out his hand, palm up. Zym stopped jumping and turned to him with a curious mew to sniff his hand. After a moment, he squeaked in approval and licked Runaan’s hand. Runaan gasped, a broken sound that tore at Ethari’s heart, but a tremulous smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes, not quite reaching his mouth, but there all the same. Ethari joined him, placing a hand on Runaan’s back, and reached out to Zym, who ducked under his hand and pressed his head against it in a demand for snuggles that was so endearing that Ethari laughed, the sound hiccupping from his throat. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Zym,” he said, stroking Zym’s fuzzy mane. 

He was too young to speak yet, so Zym returned his greeting with a nod and a happy coo. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Gren said, firm and confident. Ethari envied that quality in him. “We’ve all gotten this far. We’re not giving up now.”

“You’re right,” Rayla said. “We can do this.”

Ethari grasped that nugget of hope, holding it close to his heart, a little flame battered by the wind.


	15. Chapter 15

Ibis didn’t return for hours. Until he did, there wasn’t much of a plan to formulate, so they spent the time catching up on the many, many happenings since that horrible night in Katolis Castle, which Gren was extra glad he hadn’t been around for. Saying that the past was the past and that it was important to push forward and not wallow in resentment and recrimination was easier said than done, especially when dead parents were involved, but they tried their best. Although Gren wasn’t sure if the boys would ever be as easy around him as they had once been. Death wasn’t a wrong you could ever fix. Runaan took their father from them under orders from Zym’s mother, who had slipped into a coma and didn’t show any signs of waking up soon, if ever. Zym’s father, meanwhile, had killed their mother. And their father had killed Zym’s father, instigated by Viren or not. Yet Zym and Ezran had become best friends, and Callum was dating Rayla, Runaan’s adoptive daughter. In the midst of this mad tangle of murder and vengeance, Gren’s relationship with Runaan was the tip of the iceberg. Yet he was still in the iceberg. It would take a while for it all to sink in and settle without any further capsizing. 

On that note, they chose not to reveal what they knew or thought they knew about Amaya or how she may or may not be dead in a ring of fire in Lux Aurea. Which had been attacked by Viren, which really did absolutely nothing to lessen Gren’s anxiety. Nothing at all. Was she there when it happened? Had she been killed? Was she still a prisoner? Exactly how extensive was the damage to the city? What had Viren done? His great power had been famous for years, but transforming a primal stone into some sort of magical enhancer that turned people into vicious monsters? Since when could he pull off something like that? If Amaya ran afoul of him in that state…

No. It was best not to tell the kids anything, not until there was something constructive to tell. He wouldn’t put this spiral of despair in their minds. They had more than enough to deal with, which was already way too much grief and possible death to begin with. What were they going to do when the army arrived? Flee? Fight to the death with 100% certainty of that outcome? Apparently so, for the very idea of leaving the dragon queen defenseless was met with opprobrium so great that Gren winced when Callum suggested it to keep Zym safe. Gren thought he understood the dedication of a moonshadow elf to their duty, but the razor sharp devotion flashing in Rayla’s eyes when she declared that she would uphold the duty that her parents threw away, and the swiftness with which Runaan and Ethari joined her, filled Gren with an awe that humbled him. 

Yet it also saddened and infuriated him that they must make this choice, for how could the world be so cruel that they had scrapped and yanked themselves all the way here from that festering dungeon only to die upon the last step? Amaya had given her last stand to defend the human realms from Xadia, and now they must give theirs to defend Xadia from the human realms? When did it end? All this bloodshed and anger and damned thirst for a vengeance that led nowhere but more death? 

Gren’s optimism from earlier flagged. His words had been meant more for everyone else than for himself, for he wasn’t blind to reality. A handful of people, three of them children, against an army of monsters? No one would bet on those odds. What made the most sense to Gren was to take the dragon prince and the kids and take them away. Keep them safe. It’s what Amaya would want. Yet Runaan, Ethari, and Rayla wouldn’t budge. And it was obvious that if Rayla didn’t leave, Callum wouldn’t either, nor would Ezran, and so Zym wouldn’t go either. As for himself, the thought of leaving Runaan and Ethari to die cleaved a sword of grief through his chest. He would do it to save the kids. It would rip a hole in his heart, but he would. But that didn’t matter. No one was budging, anyway. So, unless Ibis returned with a windfall of reinforcements, Gren would stay and fight with them, side by side with the elves he had only been granted a few short days to love.

Except… Something didn’t add up. Rayla was yelling at Callum about needing to fulfill her parents’ oaths, to pay the cost that they refused to. Runaan and Ethari hadn’t so much as blinked before standing by her side, choosing to take up that oath, too. Ethari wasn’t even a fighter. Tiadrin and Lain had been their best friends, proud members of the Dragonguard for years. They’d raised a child together. Breaking an oath was considered so heinous in moonshadow culture that death was preferable. Did these sound like the kind of people who would abandon an unborn baby to save their own skin? 

“How do you know that Lain and Tiadrin ran away?” Gren asked, raising his voice to be heard over the bickering. 

Everyone fell quiet and turned to him, Runaan frowning at him in confusion. 

“They caught some deserters in Tidebound elf lands,” he said. “They say the whole guard ran, and there were no bodies found here.”

“But they haven’t been seen since?”

Runaan’s face darkened further. 

“They wouldn’t allow anyone to witness their shame.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. I know, I didn’t know them. I have no right to give my opinion over this, but something has always felt weird to me about it. I can’t picture friends you wonderfully stubborn, loyal people were so close to, moonshadow elves no less, just running away like that.” 

“I agree with Gren,” Callum said. “It sounds like you’re assuming. We need to know for sure. Lujanne showed me a spell to show the past.”

Callum’s sudden ability to perform magic had been another surprise in a day filled with them. And not even with a primal stone. He could simply draw runes in the air and blow a gust of wind, or produce a flash of lighting from his own connection to the sky arcanum. As the static electricity had buzzed on Gren’s skin, raising every hair on his body, he had both swelled with pride and wistfully wished that he could make his own connection. 

He wasn’t about to doubt Runaan and Ethari again, not after the mess he’d made of things this morning, but getting rid of insecurity was easier said than done. It niggled at him sometimes, wondering if Runaan really had changed his mind about human kingdoms being lacking for only having little wisps of magic here and there. He’d never be able to enchant a sword or turn nearly invisible in the moonlight. Wouldn’t that be nice? Runaan might no longer think of him as deficient. He must have at the beginning. There was no point in denying it. But could he feel the difference between non-magical Gren and magical everything else? Gren thought he could sometimes. Magic was everywhere in Xadia. Literally everywhere. Every grub. Every blade of grass. Every gasp of air. Gren loved it. He really, really did. Traveling through this magnificent land had been one of the amazing experiences of his life, even if you didn’t count the two gorgeous elves who thought of him as someone precious, which was still too wondrous to credit half the time. That should be proof enough for him. It should. He hadn’t felt this insecure since he was a child. 

Maybe it was the onslaught of too many seeming impossibilities and emotions, or the army of monsters that was coming to slaughter them striking all at once. Or his partners volunteering for certain death for the sake of honor that wasn’t even credited to them. It was a lot, when you thought about it.

“I just need something connected to moon magic,” Callum continued. “I know the sky arcanum, but not the moon one.”

“You really can do this?” Ethari asked.

“I think so.”

“Callum has never failed at doing magic,” Rayla said, pride in her voice. “Even when he does something stupid. And I want to know. I need to know for sure.”

Her voice trembled, the agony of months of certainty of her parents’ betrayal cracking at the possibility that it might have been a lie. Gren prayed that he was right and he hadn’t just summoned false hope for nothing. It sparkled in Ethari’s face too. Runaan was more guarded, his body as tense as the bow that Ethari refused to hand over to him. Since Ibis had revealed the horrible violation that his friends had to endure at the hands of Viren, Runaan had vacillated between barely concealed tears and a stoic disposition that hid nothing

“I gave my last moon opal to you,” Runaan said, raising his eyes to Gren, imploring behind his guarded skepticism. He feared that the spell would confirm Tiadrin’s and Lain’s betrayal. 

Gren nodded and dug out the opal from his pack. 

“Consider this a second courtship gift, then,” he said, handing it to Callum, his gaze on Runaan and Ethari. “The gift of certainty.”

Ethari grabbed him in a hug and pressed a hard kiss on his forehead. After he pulled away, Runaan took his hand and kissed him on the mouth, lingering for a moment before turning to Callum. Gren’s breath froze in this throat, a vise in his chest, uncertainty beating loudly in his heart as they walked toward the cavernous hall where the dragon queen rested. Runaan didn’t let go of his hand. As they stood at the top of the wide staircase that led down to the dragon queen, Ethari stood on Runaan’s other side and they wrapped their arms around each other’s waists. Gren had already seen the dragon, but the sight of her massive body curled up mere yards away was no less magnificent and awe-inspiring the second time around. She lied curled up, her head on the ground, her snores so loud that they echoed through the chamber, audible as soon as one entered the spire. 

“Historia viventem”,” Callum said, having traced a rune in the air. 

A sheet of blue washed over them and through the chamber like a giant wave, giving birth to three figures in the same cerulean hue at the bottom of the stairs. They looked like ghosts, yet were as well formed as if they really were here before them now. One of them was a skywing elf with wings on their back, but the other two were obviously Rayla’s parents. The resemblance left no doubt about it. Runaan’s hold tightened on his hand and Rayla gasped, putting a hand over her mouth.

“That’s them,” he gasped. “My parents.”

The skywing elf was trying to convince them to run. The dragon king was dead. Zym’s egg sat behind them in a nest of soft grass and flowers. Gren hardly dared to breathe, almost as tense as the others, but Rayla’s parents said no. They refused to leave. They’d sworn an oath to protect the egg and so they would, even if it cost them their lives. A long, deep breath left Gren’s lungs as the others gasped and murmured around him.

“They didn’t leave,” Ethari whispered. “We thought… We just assumed…”

Callum was holding Rayla, who was smiling despite the certainty of what her parents staying meant apart from them keeping their oaths. 

That part wasn’t long in coming. The enchanted vision moved on swiftly to Viren’s arrival. They fought. Viren won. He had been about to destroy the egg, but Tiadrin convinced him not to. If was her idea for Viren to steal it so the egg could stay alive and have a chance to live. She saved Zym. The illusion faded as Viren turned towards her and Lain, his sneer promising death. Gren was glad of it. They shouldn’t have to see that, especially Rayla. 

“They stayed,” Rayla said, amazed, tears in her eyes. “They saved Zym.”

“They did,” Callum said, holding her close. 

“Thank you for showing us this,” Runaan said. He clutched Gren’s hand to his chest and met his eyes, his own shiny and raw. “Thank you for insisting.”

Ethari stood in front of him and grabbed his shoulder, his face red. His head dipped, mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t find the words to speak. Gren hugged him with one arm while leaning into Runaan. Rayla joined them at one point, the pressure of her body tight against Runaan. No words were exchanged between them, only the soft sniffling of mourning that had been too long denied. 

Gren didn’t know how long had passed before Ezran’s hurried footsteps came up the stairs. 

“Whoa,” he uttered, frowning at them. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Rayla said as they pulled apart. “Callum did a spell to show us what happened the day the egg was stolen. My parents didn’t run. They stayed to protect the egg.”

Ezran’s face brightened in surprise. 

“That’s great.” His face fell. “Only, that means that they’re…”

He trailed off. It wasn’t necessary for him to finish for his meaning to be clear. Rayla nodded, sorrowful. 

“Hey guys,” Soren called out behind Ezran. “Ibis is back. We have company.”

That got them on high alert, but Soren sounded excited rather than alarmed, so it couldn’t be that Viren’s army had arrived. They rushed outside, where Ibis stood waiting, his wings retreating into arms, in time for a massive cat with flames flaring off its tail to land before them. Two weeks ago, Gren would have scrambled back in fright, but after being woken up by a dragon, a flaming cat didn’t faze him, even if it could tear his head off in one bite. It lowered its wings. Gren gasped, his heart in his throat.

“Aunt Amaya!” Ezran cried out, both him and Callum running towards her. 

Amaya was here, safe, alive, ridding a huge cat with Captain Janai of all people sitting behind her. She was okay. She’d survived the attack on Lux Aurea. Tears stung Gren’s eyes before he was even aware of them, his throat clenching painfully, the happiest of smiles stretching his face as he rushed towards her. Callum and Ezran reached her first and she wrapped them up in a bear hug, pulling them off the ground. Gren waited impatiently for his turn, his tears streaming now. As soon as Amaya put the kids down, she turned to him. Now he was off the ground with all the air being pushed out of his lungs. Amaya was shorter than him, yet she could still pick him up as if he were nothing. He laughed with joy, matching her hug. The instant that Amaya put him down, he signed fervently to her.

_I thought you were dead. I heard you were captured._

“You did?” Callum exclaimed before Amaya could respond, he and Ezran gawping at Gren. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Gren signed and said aloud. 

_You were right to do so_ , Amaya signed. Her brow furrowed in hostility as she noticed something behind them. Rayla. 

“It’s okay!” Callum said, holding out his hands as if to push Amaya away should she attack Rayla. “That thing at the Banther Lodge was a misunderstanding.” He rubbed the back of his head before signing. “Rayla is a friend.”

Rayla waved, smiling innocently, but there was a hint of well-earned caution in her eyes, as if she were silently urging Amaya not to hurt her. That night at the Banther Lodge had been rough. From what Gren understood, Amaya had almost killed her. 

“A friend, huh?” Gren said teasingly, trying to diffuse the tension. 

“Well…” Callum muttered, rubbing his neck again before Rayla grabbed his hand.

“Oh, come here, you big doof,” she said before turning back to Amaya with a big “see, I like him, please don’t hurt me” smile. 

“Maybe friend isn’t the right word these days,” Callum admitted with a goofy grin. “I see _you_ have an elf friend.”

The surprise in Amaya’s face dissipated as she turned towards Janai, who crossed her arms and looked down, positively pouting. 

“We’re not friends,” she said, sulky. “She’s my prisoner.”

The smirk on Amaya’s face made Gren bite his lip to keep from laughing. 

_She thinks I’m cute_ , she signed. _She just doesn’t know it. Yet._

Well, well. Amaya and Janai had their eyes on each other? How intriguing. On that note, now it was Gren’s turn to confess his own human-elf relationship, but it would be better to explain first than just take Runaan’s and Ethari’s hands. The last thing he wanted was Amaya and Runaan at each other’s throats, especially when they were both armed. 

_Can I talk to you alone for a bit?_ he asked her. 

_Okay._

Gren led her towards the entrance hall. As he passed Runaan and Ethari, who were staring at them cautiously, he told them that he’d be right back. Ethari nodded, but Runaan looked nervous. Amaya regarded them both with curiosity. They walked inside. Gren gave Amaya a moment to take in the magnificent hall while trying not to look incredibly nervous himself. 

_I missed you_ , he said as soon as she turned back to him.

Amaya’s face softened. 

_I missed you too. What do you want to talk about? Is it about the other two moonshadow elves?_

It had been rather obvious, hadn’t it? He nodded.

_First, I need to explain how I got here._

He told her how Viren had locked him up as soon as she left the castle, and how he’d found himself practically roomies with the elf who killed Harrow. At that, her eyes flashed with realization and she turned her head toward the doorway, scowling.

 _Please let me explain_ , Gren hurriedly signed, blocking her from the entrance. _It’s not so simple anymore. I don’t think it ever was._

She threw a combative look over his shoulder, but sighed through her nose and crossed her arms, raising her chin in the way that meant that he had her attention. Gren exhaled slowly in relief and continued. 

He didn’t go into full detail. That would take too long. Nor did he want to reveal exactly what Runaan had suffered in that dungeon without his permission, but he had to give some context, so he compromised by saying that Viren had been using him and kept him alive against his will. The implication of why exactly a dark mage wanted a living elf was clear. Amaya’s eyes widened in horror.

 _I couldn’t leave him there_ , Gren signed. _I couldn’t._

 _I understand_ , Amaya replied. 

Gren continued to their escape, Runaan’s grief for his fallen friends, and how their truce had grown into friendship. 

_This blood feud_ , Gren signed. _It’s been going on for centuries, when you think about it. Runaan was only one piece in a long chain. I wanted to hate him for killing Harrow, but I couldn’t. We’ve thought of all elves as monsters, but to them, we’re the monsters. ___

__Amaya’s face was tight. She looked around them at the tapestries that adorned the walls, images from Xadia’s history filled with battles between elves, humans, and dragons. How many of those had they been part of?_ _

___I killed many of Janai’s soldiers_ , Amaya signed. _Her friends. And she killed mine. It wouldn’t have made sense to me either to call her friend once. You’re right. It’s not so simple.__ _

__She looked towards the doorway again, where they could just see Ibis and Runaan, who had his back to them, but her gaze was pensive now instead of hostile._ _

___I trust him with my life,_ Gren said. _Him and Ethari. More than that. We’re together.__ _

__Amaya’s brows rose._ _

___You’re what? With both of them?_ _ _

__Gren nodded._ _

___Yes. I fell in love with Runaan. It just happened. When they realized, they offered to include me in their relationship. They both care about me. I still can’t believe it sometimes. I know it will be difficult and we can’t forget the past completely, but…_ He faltered for a moment. _I don’t want it to make you uncomfortable.__ _

__Amaya grabbed his shoulders and looked him steadily in the eyes, neither upset nor judging._ _

___It is strange, but it’s all strange now. And you wouldn’t love someone who didn’t deserve it. Don’t worry about me. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. But they better treat you right._ _ _

__Gren smiled, more relieved than he could express._ _

___They do. They’re wonderful._ _ _

__Amaya nodded in a silent “good” that threatened retribution if this ever failed to be so. She turned towards the entrance, Gren following behind her. Runaan, Ibis, and Ethari turned at the sound of their approach, Ibis melting away to give them privacy. Runaan looked no less nervous now, though he tried to hide it, which made it worse, for now he looked too stern. Ethari smiled at Amaya, better at easy friendliness, though he was still a bit hesitant._ _

__“This is my friend Amaya,” Gren said and signed. “And these are Runaan and Ethari, my partners.”_ _

__“It’s an honor to meet you,” Ethari said. “Gren speaks a lot about you.”_ _

__“I take it he explained everything?” Runaan asked, cutting right to the chase. Gren had a feeling that he’d be miserable with small talk._ _

___He did,_ Amaya signed. Gren interpreted for her. _If I had been at the castle that night, you wouldn’t have gotten past me.__ _

__Gren’s voice faltered. Amaya had just promised. She wouldn’t go back on that, but of course she wouldn’t be all friendly smiles right now. Noticing his distress, Amaya touched his arm, silently willing him to relax, that it was okay._ _

___I can’t forget what you did. But we all have blood on our hands. Gren says that you’ve let go of your hate for humans. I’ve had to do the same with my hate for elves. The feud between our people has gone on long enough. My part in it ends now. Janai and I reached a truce just like you and Gren did. From now on, we’re in this fight together. Agreed?_ _ _

__Ethari nodded and Runaan dipped his head._ _

__“Agreed,” he said._ _

__Amaya nodded curtly in satisfaction._ _

___Good._ She glanced at Gren before turning back to Runaan, fixing him with a steely stare that promised retribution if her command wasn’t followed. _Treat him well.__ _

__Gren groaned, not translating the last bit out of embarrassment. He poked her in the shoulder to get her attention, but she shrugged nonchalantly at Gren’s displeasure with an innocent expression before walking over to her nephews. Gren shook his head and rubbed his eyes._ _

__“What did she say at the end?” Ethari asked, apprehensive._ _

__Heat suffused Gren’s cheeks._ _

__“Treat him well,” he said._ _

__Ethari relaxed._ _

__“Well, then,” he said. “That’s easy enough to do. I thought she might have threatened to kill us or something.”_ _

__“It’d be a worthy threat coming from her,” Runaan said, studying Amaya from the corner of his eye. “I expected worse.”_ _

__“Me, too.”_ _

__“She won’t kill you,” Gren said._ _

__Runaan sighed, crossing his arms._ _

__“No,” he said. “It would make you sad.”_ _

__Gren stared at him, then shook his head._ _


	16. Chapter 16

Now that no human-elf duels to the death were imminent (to Ethari’s immense relief), they all adjoined to a conference room within the spire and figured out a plan to face Viren’s army. As much of a plan as they could manage. Janai’s army camped at the base of the spire. Much of Lux Aurea’s forces had been decimated in the attack, but enough remained, thank the moon, to mount a capable defense. At least, it would be so if they were facing regular humans. These transformed soldiers were unprecedented. No one knew what they could be capable of apart from increased strength, which was scary enough. Callum would be stationed near the bottom of the spire to take out anyone who tried to scale up, but he was the only mage they had unless Ibis returned in time from searching for reinforcements. Ezran had gone with Pyrrah to seek out more dragons to mount a defense. Again, if they returned in time. Rayla would guard Zym and the dragon queen. Gren would join her. Despite his reluctance to wield a weapon, he had offered to join the rest of them with the rest of the army, but both Runaan and Amaya insisted that he stay up here with Rayla just in case. The tension between the two was palpable, but they were united in their concern for Gren. Ethari added his voice to the plea for Gren to remain in the spire where it was safest. It also eased Ethari’s mind for Rayla to have a backup just in case, even though her own training and skill were undoubtedly superior. But Ethari wouldn’t point that out. 

Once they were all agreed, they disbanded to prepare for the oncoming storm that awaited them the next morning. As Gren went to speak with Amaya, Runaan turned to Ethari, looking hesitant yet resolute in what he wished to say. A stone sank to the bottom of Ethari’s stomach. 

No. Runaan wasn’t about to ask him to stay behind, was he? 

“Ethari,” Runaan said. “I think you should stay up here with Rayla and Gren.”

He did, the bastard.

“No.”

Ethari’s refusal was so vehement that Gren looked at them over his shoulder. Ethari shook his head at him, silently telling him to stay where he was before turning back to Runaan, who already had his mouth open to insist. 

“I mean it, Runaan,” Ethari hissed. “Please don’t insist. I can fight. You’ve made sure of that. What were all those training sessions about if not to defend myself?”

“Defending yourself is not the same as fighting in a battle. I never taught you this.”

“Because you don’t do this, either. You’re an assassin, not a soldier.”

“I’ve at least seen war before. You haven’t.”

“Every soldier has their first battle.”

“You’re not a soldier.”

“I didn’t say I was. I can handle myself. I’m not leaving you alone down there.”

“I won’t be alone.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m not leaving you.”

“You don’t need to protect me.”

“I’m not losing you again!”

Runaan’s protest dried on his tongue. Ethari stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm, the one he had almost lost, his hold gentle despite the desperation running through him. He panted, out of air from one moment to the next, panic seizing his limbs as he remembered looking into the pond every hour of every day until Runaan walked into his forge and was solid and warm and alive in his arms after weeks of worry and sleepless nights. 

“Ethari,” Runaan breathed. 

He cupped Ethari’s cheek. The touch drove a hiccupping gasp from Ethari’s throat and he grabbed his hand, pressing it close, refusing to let go. Not again. 

“How,” Ethari said, broken, “do you expect me to let you walk into danger when I could be at your side? I can’t help you on your missions, but I can help you now. I’m going. I’m not asking your permission. I’m your husband. I promised to cherish your life above my own. I’m doing this.”

Runaan wanted to argue, but he grit his teeth, head falling forward, his hand trembling on Ethari’s cheek, his other fisting at his side in helpless despair because he knew he couldn’t dissuade Ethari now. 

“This isn’t like our training sessions,” Runaan’s voice was so low it was almost a whisper. “You may have to do more than defend yourself and others.”

Ethari nodded grimly, touched by Runaan’s concern.

“We don’t have the luxury of choice right now. And I might have to kill someone up here as much as down there. That is why Rayla and Gren are staying here, after all.”

“But the chance is less. You’d be safer. I don’t just mean physically. I was wrong in thinking that Rayla possessed the necessary instinct, but I’m not wrong about you not having it.”

Ethari gripped the back of Runaan’s neck and dipped his head to look him steadily in the eyes, his heart breaking at the pain and trepidation that he found there. But they didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t let Runaan go this time. 

“I’ll do what I have to defend my own. I always have and I always will.”

“I’ve never doubted that. Not for a second. But if you don’t have the right temperament… Even if you do… Since we learned about the attack on Lux Aurea, I’ve dreaded seeing what war might do to you.”

Ethari smiled sadly. He had meant to comfort, but his heart couldn’t manage it. 

“I’m not naïve. But what might happen later won’t matter if we don’t live to see it. And I’m not waiting up here, every minute dragging by like an hour, scared that this time your lotus flower really will sink.”

An exhausted breath shuddered from Runaan’s body. He dropped against Ethari, grasping him in a fierce embrace, and buried his face in his neck, heated breaths quick and urgent.

“There’s nothing I can say to dissuade you, is there?” he said miserably.

Ethari rubbed his back, praying that he’d have the chance to hold Runaan again this time tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “There’s not.” 

`````````````````

Gren approached them later, concerned, but there was nothing more to say. He didn’t try to dissuade Ethari from joining the battle, for which Ethari was grateful, even though his worry for both of them was palpable in his eyes. Leaving him to spend more time reconnecting with Amaya, Ethari all but dragged Runaan to the room they had been given to sleep for a few, precious hours and gain whatever strength they could. It was elegantly furnished, but the only item of interest to either of them right now was the bed, which was just wide enough to accommodate three people. After tugging off his boots and upper clothes, Ethari sank into the bed, grateful for the small comfort as sorrow pulsed through him at Runaan’s dejected posture. He hadn’t made a sound unless spoken to since Ethari had ended his protests, licking his wounds in silence. 

“Come here,” Ethari called to him. 

He’d pushed the covers to his feet and lied on his back, inviting Runaan to bed with both arms outstretched. They should get as much sleep as possible, but they couldn’t end the night like this, nor go to battle without what might be their last chance to hold each other. Ethari shoved the grim thought far away, but it bounced right back, making him ache with the cold possibility, if not probability, that they would not all survive come the morrow. Runaan’s mind wandered down the same dismal road. It was apparent in the desperate look he gave Ethari before he pulled his shirt over his head and climbed into bed, grabbing Ethari with a primal need to hold and be held, to feel, to impress upon Ethari the full depth of his love in the ways that they loved best. Ethari’s fingers sank into his back as Runaan made a study of Ethari’s chest with lips and tongue and teeth. Ethari moaned, Runaan’s mouth catching on his nipple, lingering on the bud, teasing as he gripped Ethari’s waist. Ethari grabbed his hair, yanking too hard. Runaan winced.

“Sorry,” Ethari breathed, kissing Runaan’s head in apology. His cheek brushed Runaan’s broken horn, its sharp edges scratching him, and Ethari’s body burned with fury at the man who had almost taken Runaan from him, who had used him as a living larder for his disgusting excuse for magic, who had chained him up as if he were the most wicked of fiends. Runaan’s touch soothed him, slowly easing those thoughts, but only just. A sigh scrapped from Ethari’s throat as Runaan took his hand in his own and cherished every digit, every knuckle, burying his face in his palm, his breath raw and hot. He sucked a finger into his mouth. Ethari moaned, gripping Runaan’s shoulder. 

The door cracked open. Gasping, Runaan tossed the covers over then, but it was only Gren, who swiftly shut the door behind them and looked at the floor, eyes wide.

“Um, do you want me to leave?” he asked.

“No,” Ethari and Runaan clamored in unison. 

“Unless you want to,” Runaan said. “You don’t have to join us. But if you do want to…”

“We would like that very much,” Ethari said, smiling.

Gren hesitated a moment, looking between them as if unsure if what they were offering what real and not a flight of fancy, then he grinned and crouched down to take off his boots. Ethari’s smile widened. They scooted towards the edge of the bed to give Gren space to get in beside Runaan, who turned his attention to Gren, but Ethari didn’t mind one bit. Gren had also removed his shirt, exposing a delightful smattering of red hairs down his muscled chest, which was flushed with excitement.

“How does this work?” he asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“What do you want to do?” Runaan asked. “We’re open to a lot of things, as you saw.”

Ethari propped himself up on his elbow so he could see Gren, who blushed shyly. Ethari wrapped his right arm around Runaan’s chest. Gren watched him move, sucking in a sharp breath as Ethari’s hand brushed his own chest. Just a graze. He didn’t want to press too much. Runaan had cradled Gren’s neck and jaw, his hand still, waiting for Gren to decide. 

“You can ask if you’re unsure,” Runaan said. “That’s the best way.”

Gren nodded, biting his bottom lip. 

“Okay. Can I touch your chest?”

Runaan nodded. Gren raised his hand and ever so slowly pressed his fingertips below Runaan’s throat. He stroked down, slowly exploring. He stopped at Ethari’s arm and met his eyes, asking, 

“Can I?” 

Ethari nodded. 

“Yes.” 

His skin tingled as Gren touched his arm, circling his wrist with eager fingers, tracing his markings up to his bicep. His legs, which he had held nervously straight until now, rose to bump against Runaan’s. He looked at Runaan.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

Runaan nodded.

“Is it okay if I…”

Runaan’s hand hovered over Gren’s knee. Gren nodded. Runaan placed his hand on Gren’s inner knee, rubbing in small circles over his calf. Gren blinked slowly.

“You like that?” Runaan asked. 

Gren nodded. He grasped Runaan’s left hand and squeezed Ethari’s arm. He licked his lips, uncertain. 

“Do you want…” he asked, trailing off before summoning his courage. “To touch me like you were with Ethari when I came in?”

His face burned red, his eyes flickering to Ethari, quietly asking permission despite everything, but before Ethari could point out that there was no need for him to worry, Gren seemed to realize and rubbed Ethari’s shoulder, grazing his neck.

“I would like that, yes,” Runaan said.

Ethari loosened his hold on him so Runaan could scoot down and kiss Gren’s clavicle, teasingly following the action further down. Gren’s breath quickened and he grabbed Runaan’s back, gazing at him in wonder, groaning as Runaan grazed a nipple before looking up at Ethari. His eyes were the most vibrant blue, desperate, uncertain that this was actually happening. Ethari touched his cheek. Gren grabbed his arm, then his back, holding on as if he would shatter otherwise. 

“You like that?” Ethari asked.

Runaan paused to hear Gren’s answer. Gren nodded fervently. 

“Yes,” he cried, right hand buried in Runaan’s hair. “I really do. Although… I’m not sure if…”

He looked down at himself, blushing even more furiously. Ethari didn’t need to look to know what Gren meant. 

“You can take of yourself if you want,” Runaan said. “Here or in the bathroom. We just… We can’t…”

“You don’t want that. I know. It’s okay. I’ll hold out a little longer. I’ll enjoy this more if I do.”

“Okay,” Runaan said. “Let us know if anything changes. If you want me to stop.”

“I very much do not want that.”

Ethari chuckled. 

“Runaan is really good at this, isn’t he?” he said, stroking his husband’s gorgeous hair. 

Runaan smiled up at him and took his hand, kissing his knuckles.

“I’ve had a good partner to practice on.”

Chuckling, Ethari kissed his forehead and stroked down his chest. Runaan turned back to Gren and proceeded to extract the cutest little mews from him as he sucked on the skin of his stomach. Ethari continued to rub Runaan’s chest and back while watching Gren arch his head back on the pillow, eyes closing, mouth open, his hands buried in Runaan’s hair. Ethari reached for him, brushing his hair off his forehead. Gren looked at him, eyes bright and alert, gasping as Ethari traced his face with his fingertips, down his cheekbones, up his nose, counting those delightful freckles down to his jaw. Gren lied still throughout, eyes soft and wondering and aching in a way that Ethari knew too well. He glanced down at Runaan, licked his lip, and touched Ethari’s face, scooting forward the slightest bit, silently asking. Slowly, Ethari bridged the gap between them and kissed him, gently, the merest press of lips on lips before Ethari began to kiss down his jaw to his ear, delighting at the hot blush of Gren’s skin. 

His left hand tightened on Runaan’s chest, his heart swelling with affection and a protective instinct over them both that clenched his breath in his throat. He wasn’t aware that his hands were trembling until Runaan grabbed them and turned around, scooting up to face Ethari, tender eyes pleading with him that it would be alright as he brushed Ethari’s hair from his eyes and kissed him softly.

“It’s alright, my love,” he murmured against his mouth. “It’s alright.”

Now, but what about tomorrow? But Ethari wouldn’t voice these treacherous thoughts out loud. Runaan was already sick with worry. He refused to make it worse. 

Gren suddenly let go of his hand and left the bed, the jostling of the mattress startling them both, but the new worry barely had time to sting before Gren hurried to the other side of the bed and climbed in behind Ethari, hugging him close, his face buried in Ethari’s nape, legs tucked against his. Ethari breathed, eyes stinging. 

“We’ll be okay,” Gren said, ever optimistic despite his own misgivings. Ethari knew his moods well enough by now to know when Gren relied on a white lie and hope in the midst of his own doubt. “You, Runaan, Rayla, Amaya, me. Don’t worry about tomorrow. You’ll just make yourself miserable. That goes for both of you.”

Runaan grunted, eyes closing for a moment, lost in thought before he met Ethari’s eyes, his fear for Ethari undiminished. Sighing, Ethari closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his, holding him tightly with one arm while grasping Gren’s with the other. He breathed in their scent, soaked in the warmth of their bodies, the reassurance of their sweet touch, and willed himself to calm for their sake.


	17. Chapter 17

Runaan didn’t want to leave the bed. Ethari slept on his chest, tranquil at last after his discomfort the night before, while Gren lied behind him, his arms still loosely wrapped around Ethari’s back. A smile tugged on Runaan’s lips at the remembrance of last night. If only he could cherish them with such lovely affection instead of donning his weapons and joining the fight. He would keep them safe and happy until the end if it was in his power to do so, but he couldn’t bundle them away like children. He wouldn’t argue with Ethari over his choice to join him. He had said enough. Ethari wouldn’t budge. To protest any more would be insulting to him. Runaan had always known that Ethari struggled when his missions took him away from home, but had his desperation always been this acute? He enchanted the metal lotuses to ward off the uncertainty of whether Runaan lived or died, so Ethari had known that he lived. Yet that couldn’t remove the terror that at any moment it might sink. The night of the full moon must have been agonizing. And he was right to fear, for Runaan had almost failed to return to him. He had almost subjected Ethari to the horror of grieving not only their friends, but his husband as well. And Ethari knew precisely how close he had come to losing him. No wonder he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Runaan’s side when death was once more on the line. 

At least Rayla and Gren would be better protected. If the human army got past them into the spire, everything would be lost, so whatever they had to do to stop it, they would do it, at the cost of their lives if necessary. Runaan wouldn’t contemplate another possibility. 

Breakfast was subdued, the merest consumption of food to provide them with energy for the coming fight, but not so much that it would weigh them down. The light of the sun dyed the sky a deep blue when the human army was first spotted on the horizon. It was time to head down and join Lux Aurea’s troops. 

Rayla and Gren said goodbye to them at the entrance to the chamber where the dragon queen rested. Runaan’s heart ached as Rayla walked up to him and fell into his arms in a tight hug that he’d once feared would never be possible again. Guilt and shame welled up in him despite Rayla’s forgiveness. If he survived this day, he would make sure not to fail her again. 

“Remember your training,” Runaan told her as he pulled away. 

“I will,” she said, standing up straight with a sharp nod of determination. 

If only Tiadrin and Lain could see her now, following in their footsteps. How had they all been so foolish as to doubt them?

“I’m proud of you,” Runaan said, a smile tugging on his lips.

Rayla beamed, her eyes shiny, but she held them back like a good soldier. After squeezing her shoulder one more time, Runaan forced himself to turn away where Gren and Ethari were detaching themselves from each other. Ethari and Runaan switched places.

“Keep safe,” Gren said, tugging him into a tight hug. “I didn’t go through all the trouble of dragging you out of that dungeon for you to die on me now.”

Runaan tried to summon a laugh for Gren’s sake, but his breath was dry in his throat. 

“I’ll do my best.” 

Pulling back, he cradled Gren’s cheek, savoring the softness of his skin for a moment before Gren leaned forward and kissed him, breath hot and raw. Much too soon, they had to pull away. Ethari was just as reluctant to leave Rayla, who suddenly looked so small in this massive hall that should have been filled with a dozen Dragonguards. But the only two that counted were dead while the rest had fled, cowards that they were, so it fell to an underage girl and a human soldier who never carried a weapon to defend the royal dragons. But Rayla would do well if it came to it. Runaan hadn’t exaggerated when he’d told her that she was probably the most talented of all of them. And Gren did have proper military training, even if he didn’t use it. It would have to do. He may not like carrying the sword at his hip, but he knew how to use it. If only Ethari had consented to stay behind, too. 

Ethari walked apace beside him as they followed the others down the incline, his face grim, yet determined. Runaan had convinced him to hand over the bow now that he was well enough to wield his dual blades. His arm ached still, but he could manage well enough. Ethari bore Skor’s sword and a pair of short knives. He knew how to wield them. Runaan had made sure of it. But it had been weeks since the last time he’d spared with anyone, and there was no time now. It would be worse if he was tired before the battle. Runaan did the second best thing, which wasn’t much at all, and reminded him of key points. Maintain a wide stance. Always be alert to your surroundings. Use the opponent’s strength against them. 

“I remember, Runaan,” Ethari interrupted, peeved. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“I just…”

Runaan grit his teeth. He hated this. Ethari should never have to be in danger. He should be safe back at the Silvergrove, but if Runaan so much as hinted at that, he’d be in for the tongue lashing of his life and he’d deserve it. 

Ethari grabbed his hand, his tremulous grip betraying the fear that he dared not show, but his eyes were determined as he met Runaan’s own, a plea for understanding that he couldn’t bear to be left behind again. 

“I know,” he said.

Runaan gripped his hand, breathing sharply through his nose. 

The human army was almost upon them by the time they reached the encampment. Lux Aurea’s forces formed a shield wall at the vanguard. Runaan and Ethari joined Amaya and Soren. Amaya met their eyes. There was no need for an interpreter to convey what she was silently telling them as she nodded, her lips in a firm line. All wounds were not healed between them, but they stood on the same side now. Their fight was her fight. They would triumph or die together. Runaan and Ethari nodded back and took their places. 

It wasn’t long before the humans attacked, yet it felt like eons as they stood there, weapons drawn, Ethari’s brave presence at his side, worry pooling in a sick stew in Runaan’s belly. It had been decades since he’d last stood on a battlefield. Even the hard battle at Katolis castle had been partly compared to the army amassed around him and the legions coming for them. He could feel their presence as much as see it, like slime on his skin, the sickening feeling of magic corrupted into a vile substance in the hands of Viren. Runaan’s grip tightened on his swords, fury quickening his breath. Ethari grabbed his arm, rubbing soft circles on his skin to try to soothe him. It didn’t work, but he pretended it did for Ethari’s sake, for he was even more on edge than he was, although he sought to dissemble as well. 

A command rang out and the shield wall slammed into the ground, summoning an enchanted wall to resist the first assault. Not too far in the distance, the human army cried out its advance. They braced themselves. 

“Steady,” Runaan told Ethari.

Ethari nodded, but he couldn’t hide his nervousness now. Runaan resisted the urge to step in front of him. 

The humans crashed against the shield wall, magic flaring gold in the air, but it didn’t resist a second assault. Soon the humans poured in, if you could even call them that anymore. Hulking fiends glowing gold in a sick mockery of sunfire fire blood, brandishing sharp claws as well as weapons, which they swung with much greater strength than any human Runaan had faced before. His injured arm protested as he blocked a downward swing of a fighting staff with both his swords, barely pushing the man back. Swerving to the side, he stabbed through an opening in the man’s armor at his armpit and finished him off with a blade through his vizor. He sought out Ethari, but only caught a glimpse of him before another soldier was upon him. He made quick work of them just in time to block one from burying a sword in Ethari’s back. Ethari gasped, but Runaan couldn’t tell if he noticed or not, for Ethari was busy fighting someone else, a hulking mass of roaring fury. Runaan joined him, dispatching the human quickly. He met Ethari’s eyes for a moment. Blood was splattered on Ethari’s right side, his blade covered in blood. A pang of loss pulsed inside Runaan before swiftly being driven away by the immediate need to repel more humans closing in. 

Time dissolved into a haze of slashing and punching and pain. A lucky blow cut open Runaan’s bicep before he stabbed his assailant in the gut. At one point, dragons arrived, raining fire onto the horde, but the flames only emboldened the twisted magic running through their veins. Runaan grabbed Ethari’s arm, mute with horror as the humans rose from the scorched earth, power pulsing through the air with such force that the next blow that rained over their heads knocked Runaan to the ground. Ethari leapt in front of him, his own strength barely enough to hold back the towering mass that couldn’t be called human anymore. Runaan leapt up, striking them from behind, but the creature turned and slammed him in the stomach, throwing him into the air. Runaan cried out, pain exploding in his left shoulder. It was dislocated. He was sure of it. He pushed himself to his feet, vision swimming, gritting his teeth, the motion jolting through his joint. 

Ethari! Where was his husband? 

A flash of white air erupted in his vision, swiftly hidden behind the creature as it raised a sword to stab Ethari. Yelling, Runaan pushed himself into a run, the pain from his shoulder making him dizzy. Before he could reach them, Amaya and Janai attacked, pushing the creature back away from Ethari, who hovered on unsteady feet, sword trembling in his hand. 

“Ethari,” Runaan called out, reaching him. 

He stopped himself from touching his face, for a wicked cut marred Ethari’s left cheek. Blood dripped down his neck, soaking his clothes.

“I’m okay,” he breathed, meeting Runaan’s eyes for a second before looking around them, on alert like Runaan had taught him. 

But he wasn’t. His eyes were glassy and frightened, his breath uneven.

“Your arm,” Ethari said, frowning dejectedly at it, which Runaan held tight against his chest.

“I’m fine,” he said. 

No more words were spoken, for more attackers swung at them. 

Runaan didn’t know how much time had gone by before shouts of surprise rang around them. 

“Runaan,” Ethari called to him as everyone turned to look west. A new army had appeared and was attacking the dark magic creatures. 

Humans. 

“That’s Duren’s army!” Soren shouted from somewhere, bright with excitement. 

The only human kingdom that hadn’t joined Viren’s forces. They had come to Xadia’s aid. 

Runaan would be surprised later. Now was the time to beat Viren’s army back. They might actually win. 

``````````````````

_Some time before_

It took a frustrating amount of effort not to follow Runaan and Ethari to the entrance of the spire and watch them descend. Even later during the battle, the cloud cover would prevent them from seeing any of the fighting, leaving them in doubt as to what was going on. There was nothing they could do but wait. 

A piteous whine caught Gren’s attention. At the entrance to the chamber where the dragon queen slept, her baby son curled up and hung his head on the ground, looking as glum as it was possible to be. Bait snuggled up beside him, grunting in companionship while Rayla sat at his other side, petting Zym’s silver mane.

“Don’t worry, Zym,” she said, smiling reassuringly. “Everything is going to be okay. No one is going to hurt you, not on our watch.”

“Listen to her, Zym,” Gren said, approaching them. “We’re here to take care of you.”

A thrill still ran through him every time he interacted with the tiny dragon. One, it was so nice to talk to a dragon that didn’t leer at him as if he were a cute pet. Two, Zym was adorable and so sweet. Three, Gren couldn’t stop thinking of him as a miracle baby. He had gone through so much just to keep living. He had been this close to dying twice, yet here he was, alive and… Well, more moping than kicking, but nothing that a victory over the forces of evil couldn’t fix. 

“We’re going to win this,” Gren said, sitting beside Bait and joining Rayla in petting Zym, who seemed too depressed to react. “You’ll see.”

They carried on petting him for a while until Zym finally mewed in acceptance and closed his eyes for a nap. Bait, in turn, grunted up at Gren, demanding pets himself. Gren happily obliged. 

“He’s a little taskmaster,” Gren said.

Rayla smiled. 

“A little thief, too.”

Bait grumbled at her, displeased. She waved her hand in dismissal.

“Okay, it was only one time,” she said. 

“What was one time?”

“He drank my moonberry juice without even asking. It was supposed to be for everyone.”

Bait grumbled, not looking remotely guilty. 

“He’s just like Ezran.” Gren gazed down at Bait fondly. “Anything sweet, they grab. Take now. Ask forgiveness later. That’s their motto.”

“Is that why Ezran arrived here with a pack full of jelly tarts?”

“Did he? I’m amazed they made the trip. He usually inhales them. It’s so hard to get him to eat anything else.”

“You’re known him a long time, haven’t you?”

Gren nodded.

“Four years. That’s how long I’ve been Amaya’s interpreter. You know, it was the example all of you set by working together that inspired me to keep talking to Runaan in the dungeon and not give up when he kept giving me the cold shoulder. It should have been obvious back at the Banther Lodge. Callum and Ez didn’t look remotely scared of you, nor were they running away. I’m sorry about how we handled that.”

“Thanks. It’s okay. Well, it’s okay now. It wasn’t then.”

She picked at her hair, pulling at a short stub. The spot where a braid had hung before being ripped off by an arrow that had thankfully missed its mark. 

“Callum did make it worse, too,” Rayla continued, old annoyance flickering on her face. 

“You must have given him quite a hiding for it,” Gren said, smiling lightly, picturing a timorous Callum shrinking from Rayla’s justified wrath.

Rayla snorted.

“I did.” She turned. “How hard was it for you to get Runaan to talk to you? I never, ever expected him to willingly be in a human’s company. Then again, I didn’t expect I would, either.”

“Oh, he made his disdain for humans crystal clear. Although to be fair, I was mean to him too at first. He killed King Harrow.” Gren rubbed his fingers in his lap. “And I was taught that elves were evil, just like you were taught that humans are. But like I said, your example made me believe that we could do better. So I decided to be nice, and kept at it no matter how much he yelled at me or ignored me.” He didn’t mention the agony that had ripped through him at being a helpless witness to Runaan’s torture. Rayla didn’t need to know that. “I think I tired him out after a while, so he gave up and stopped being snippy.”

“Wow. You have no idea how amazing that is. The only people I know who could change Runaan’s mind are Ethari and my parents.”

Her voice caught at the mention of her parents, awakening a pang of sorrow inside Gren, but she pushed through.

“You must be incredibly persuasive,” Rayla continued. 

Gren rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t know about that. I try. I am certainly persistent, I’ll give you that, and we had nothing but time.”

Rayla watched him, her face inscrutable, eyes alight with curiosity and unspoken questions. Gren resisted the urge to squirm in his seat, his fragile cheer replaced by apprehension.

“Are you okay with the three of us being together?” he asked, nervous. “We did spring it on you rather suddenly.”

“Oh.” Rayla looked down at her lap, gripping her knees. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was no more sudden than me springing Callum on Runaan. I was so scared of telling him, if…” She swallowed. “When I saw him again. It’s not a complete surprise, though. Them courting someone, I mean. We’ve never talked about it. I don’t think they wanted me to know. Probably didn’t want to deal with awkward questions. But I have noticed when someone stays over for the night, that sometimes they sleep in their room instead of the guest bedroom. You can’t beat Runaan when it comes to stealth on a mission, but he’s terrible at home. Even worse than Ethari. I don’t think they’ve ever courted anyone before, though.”

Delight thrilled through Gren, a feeling of being special. 

“Neither have I,” he said, stamping down on his giddiness before he exploded with it. “I mean, I’ve dated, but you couldn’t have called it courtship, exactly. Nothing so formal. I was floored when they asked me. I hope, I really do hope, I can make them happy.”

Rayla narrowed her eyes at him, then leaned in razor quick.

“You better,” she said menacingly.

Gren nodded, following her lead by pretending to be scared, although he was a little concerned and very serious about not messing this up. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

Her intimidating façade cracked as she laughed.

“I’m joking,” she said, sitting back.

Gren smiled.

“I know. But I’d deserve it if I didn’t.”

Her eyes widened in surprise before she pulled her legs up and rested her chin against her knees.

“I don’t know if I can make Callum happy. There’s so much he doesn’t understand about my culture and me about his. Have you had that problem?”

A knowing sigh erupted from Gren’s chest as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a lot we all have to learn about each other. It’s still very early days. But we’ll get there. I’m sure we will. So will you and Callum.” 

Rayla frowned pensively.

“I hope so.”

````````````````````````````

Blood and corpses filled the Thunder Plains when Viren’s forces finally surrendered. Runaan and Ethari clung to each other as they picked their way across the battlefield, battered and bleeding, but alive. No one had made it up the spire, so Rayla and Gren were safe. Amaya and Janai had gone to greet Duren’s queen and formally accept the surrender. A healing camp was being set up to treat the wounded. Runaan insisted that Ethari’s cuts be seen to first. Someone had already shoved Runaan’s arm back in its socket and his other injuries could wait. Apart from the cut on his face, Ethari had ones on his arms and leg. Some would scar, as would the cut on Runaan’s bicep and waist. He already had plenty, but Ethari had borne none save for one on his knee from falling from a tree as a child, an innocent remembrance of play. Now he’d be marked by violence he should never have had to experience. Yet he’d done so well. Runaan had been so scared for him, yet he had made it through. They both had. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Runaan told him, taking his hand and raising it to his lips. 

Ethari tried to smile, but winced.

“Hold still,” chided the sunfire healer tending to his face wound. 

Soon she closed up the cut, leaving an angry, red scab that stretched from Ethari’s left cheekbone almost to his ear. 

“I’ll have a scar now,” Ethari said after Runaan’s wounds were tended. “One to match all of yours.”

The way he spoke gave Runaan pause. Ethari aimed for lightness, but the tension in his shoulders and the haunted look in his eyes when he thought Runaan wasn’t looking proved that to be a lie for Runaan’s sake. 

“You don’t have anything to prove,” Runaan said, cradling the back of Ethari’s neck. “You never have.”

Ethari smiled without wincing this time, but Runaan hated how the motion pulled at the cut. 

“I know,” he said, touching Runaan’s shoulder. “It wasn’t about that. I needed to see you safe.”

Runaan nodded, lowering his head.

“You succeeded.”

“I’m proud of you, you know. I don’t know how you manage to do this all the time.”

“Well, it’s not the same as this.”

Ethari looked at the wreckage around them, his dejection returning. He sighed so sharply that it hurt to hear it. 

“I know. I’m so glad. You have no idea. I meant—”

“I know what you meant. It’s not easy. It never has been.”

“So you’ve said before. I’m glad it’s not.”

Runaan dropped his forehead against Ethari’s, then pressed a fervent kiss to his uninjured cheek. Ethari’s arms tightened around him, clinging like they had last night, needing to feel him close just like Runaan did. He buried his hands in Ethari’s hair, which was sticky with sweat and blood, his skin hot with overexertion. It should never have been like this. But he was alive. Wonderfully, gloriously alive. 

“I’m proud of you too,” Ethari murmured against his cheek. 

Runaan’s breath shuddered. Something about Ethari’s demeanor was too frail, too subdued. Too injured in a way that magical stitching couldn’t fix. It was the same with everyone after their first battle, Runaan told himself. All Ethari needed was time. That’s all. He would be fine. He and Gren and Rayla. The hardest part was over now. 

Yet deep inside, Runaan knew it wasn’t.


	18. Chapter 18

He came after they thought the battle was over. The faint sound of a rock slipping down the mountainside was Gren’s and Rayla’s only warning before a blast of cold air burst through the entrance, freezing Rayla midstride in a column of ice. Gren didn’t even get a chance to draw his sword before the spell smacked him against the wall next to Rayla, encasing his limbs. Rayla yelled, her hands free at least. Gren could barely move his, trapped by the ice. Panic seized him, as fierce as the terror that soaked him in cold sweat when he looked up to see Viren advancing on them, a malicious sneer on his face. 

But this wasn’t a face that Gren had seen before. The mage’s handsome veneer was marred, stained purple and grey in streaks that chilled Gren to the bone as surely as the ice. His eyes shone black from lid to lid, twin voids. Was this what dark magic did to people? Had he truly looked like this all this time? 

“I should have expected you’d be here,” Viren said, eyeing Gren, unimpressed. “Although I didn’t think you’d take a liking to the elf that killed your king.”

“You tried to kill his children,” Gren said. “You took Ezran’s throne.”

“Ezran abdicated. Someone had to step in. But I didn’t come here to argue politics with you.”

His gaze turned to the recesses of the chamber, where Zym’s tiny form cowered. Zym whined, frightened. Gren jerked against the ice, panting. It did nothing. He couldn’t dislodge the ice even an inch. Rayla was pounding at her own prison with one of her blades, but the chips of ice that flew off were too small, too few. 

Viren yelped. Bait had bitten into his ankle. It did not good. Gren cried out as Viren flung the little creature against the wall. Bait flopped down, immobile. 

No! Please don’t be dead, Bait! Please! 

“You won’t get away with this,” Rayla growled. “Run, Zym!”

Whimpering, Zym did so, slipping past Viren to the entrance, his little wings trying to take flight, but he was still too young. He didn’t know how to fly properly. Viren scoffed in disgust.

“Why do people insist on not seeing the obvious? I already have. I will get that baby dragon, then I’ll come back for its mother. As for you.” Gren shuddered as Viren turned that wicked gaze onto him. “Since you love moonshadow elves so much...”

He trailed off with such a menacing grin that a whimper rose in Gren’s throat. Viren raised his staff and began to chant the backward words of dark magic. Gren struggled harder against the ice biting through his skin, but a purple vapor rose from the staff and stabbed him like a furious snake. Gren screamed, agony radiating through every inch of him, then the chamber around him was gone.

`````````````````

“Viren’s at the top of the spire! This was a ruse!”

Ezran’s shout broke through the semi-calm that had fallen over the plains. Runaan and Ethari instantly ran towards him, heart thundering in Runaan’s chest, their exhaustion forgotten as they propelled their limbs forward.

“How do you know that?” Ethari asked Ezran, who looked scared as he stared wide-eyed up the spire. 

“We saw Claudia. She told us. She’s gone now. They’re in danger. I saw it through Zym’s eyes.”

Through Zym’s eyes? This human king could do that? But that didn’t matter now. Rayla and Gren wouldn’t stand a chance against Viren. Every moment they hesitated was a step closer to their death. Runaan ran to the closest dragon that remained on the field, a dark green male who turned towards them as soon as Runaan and Ethari approached. 

“Please take us up to the spire,” Runaan begged him. 

Understanding the urgency of the situation, the dragon crouched down and extended his wings, allowing Runaan and Ethari to mount him, Ethari clinging to Runaan’s torso. The dragon instantly took off. 

Runaan’s stomach lurched at the motion, his legs clenching on the dragon’s back, hands scrambling for purchase on their scaly skin, shivering as they dove into the clouds above. 

_Please be alive please be alive please be alive_

The instant the dragon landed at the peak, they jumped off and carefully approached the entrance, weapons drawn. At first no sound come from within, then a grunt and the sound of nails hitting stone rushed towards them, quickly materializing into Bait. Runaan and Ethari relaxed a fraction until Bait looked up at them balefully and groaned, a low, miserable sound that froze Runaan’s blood. Turning around, Bait returned inside, meaning for them to follow. 

A huge block of ice filled one end of the chamber, which was empty save for a crumpled figure on the floor where Bait was standing, both soaked in a large puddle.

“Gren!” Ethari shouted, running toward him.

Runaan gasped in horror, growing numb as his feet pushed him forward, his instincts barely keeping him alert to his surroundings as he approached. Falling to the ground, Ethari grabbed Gren and turned him face up, pulling him onto his lap. Gren’s eyes were closed, his face pale, so pale. And so cold. Runaan fell on his knees and cupped his face. It felt like ice. 

The ice. Viren had trapped Lain and Tiadrin in ice. That’s where the puddle had come from. A lit torch lied on the ground a few feet away. Someone had melted the ice. Had it been Bait? Where was Rayla? Where was Zym? 

“Rayla,” Ethari breathed, looking around frantically. “Where’s Rayla?”

“Stay here,” Runaan said, pushing himself to his feet, his body running on instinct as he made his way to the queen’s chamber. 

No Rayla. No Zym. Outside. If Zym had run, he would have gone outside, followed by Viren. Rayla had also been trapped in the ice. There were two impressions at the top of the ice boulder, two bodies melted free. She would have followed. Runaan ran outside and up the staircase to the topmost level of the spire, his heart in his throat, breath hurting his lungs, palms sweating on the hilts of his swords. 

Rayla and Callum stood at the platform, the latter holding Zym. A massive breath of relief gusted from Runaan’s lungs as he rushed to them in one last dash and pulled Rayla into his arms. 

“You’re alive,” he murmured into her hair, holding her as tightly as he dared without hurting her, his arms shaking. 

“I’m okay,” Rayla said, hugging him close before pulling away. 

“Where’s Viren?”

Rayla looked over the cliff, her face closed off. 

“He fell over. He’s dead.”

Relief flooded Runaan’s body so strongly that he almost fell forward with the force of it. There was more to it, but now wasn’t the time to push the issue.

“Did you find Gren?” Rayla asked. 

Runaan shuddered, and not from exertion. Not once had he allowed himself to consider the possibility that Gren might be… 

That he might be…

“Yes,” he said, his voice raspy. “Ethari is with him.”

He started moving back to the staircase, his heart loud in his ears. 

“What happened to Gren?” Callum asked, looking between them.

“I don’t know,” Rayla said. “Viren did something to him. Some sort of spell. He sent this purple vapor into Gren and he fell unconscious.”

Unconscious. Not dead. 

Unless between when Rayla had last seen him and now… 

They hurried down the steps. Amaya, Ezran, and Ibis were there when they arrived, Amaya sitting next to Ethari, who continued to clutch Gren in his lap, her face stricken and eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

“Callum!” Ezran cried out when he saw them, running towards them. “Zym! Rayla! You’re okay!” 

“We’re fine, Ez,” Callum said.

The rest of their exchange was lost on Runaan as he sank beside Ethari. Some color had flowered on Gren’s cheeks. A grateful whimper escaped Runaan’s lips and he touched Gren’s temple, feeling for a pulse. He was alive. His heartbeat was strong. Katolis hadn’t taken him from them, too. Ethari was rubbing Gren’s legs to drive away the icy cold while Amaya stroked his hand, carefully flexing his fingers. She only let go for a moment to sign a short question.

“What happened?” Callum translated for her.

All eyes turned to Rayla, who sucked in a deep breath, her expression pained.

“Viren encased us in ice before we could do anything. He launched a spell at Gren with his staff. It looked like steam, purple and black. It stabbed Gren through the chest. He screamed.”

Ethari gasped and Runaan shivered. He stroked Gren’s face, his immobile, cold face. He didn’t respond to their touch, as if they weren’t there. 

“Viren said something,” Rayla continued, “about how since Gren liked moonshadow elves so much, then he trailed off like a sadistic vulture and cast the spell. I have no idea what he was talking about.”

“He’s trapped Gren in a dream,” Ibis said, crouching beside Gren and inspecting his face. “I don’t know the moon arcanum, so I don’t know much about it, but your magic is based on illusions. Gren isn’t waking up by regular means. He’s stuck in his own mind, experiencing things that aren’t real.”

 _Trapped in a world of nightmares?_ Amaya signed with Callum translating.

Fury boiled in Runaan’s skin. If Viren weren’t already dead, Runaan would drive his sword through his heart and watch him bleed out until he had no more blood left to spill. Ibis nodded grimly.

“It does sound like he wished Gren to suffer,” he said, not unkindly. 

“A moon mage should be able to bring him back, right?” Runaan asked.

Ibis considered. 

“Perhaps. But if Viren used his staff, then it’s not pure primal magic. It’s tainted by dark magic. I don’t know of any mage on this side of the border that has any familiarity with dark magic.”

Of course not. Its study, much less use, was one of their strongest taboos. Despair began to seep in Runaan’s bones and he wrapped an arm around Ethari, who was crying softly, tears spilling silently from his eyes. He grabbed Gren’s right hand, pained by how stiff his fingers were. The cold had robbed them of all their warmth. How dearly he wished for Gren’s boundless optimism now. He’d surrender his life for Gren to open his eyes and smile. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ibis said. “The sunfire healers might have some idea about what can be done.”

```````````````

Gren opened his eyes. Panicking, he drew his sword and anxiously searched his surroundings, on his guard for Viren’s next strike, but the entrance chamber of the Spire had vanished, replaced by a grove enmeshed in an ethereal twilight. 

The Silvergrove. How was he here? Had Viren transported him somehow? No, that didn’t make sense. As powerful as he was, surely Viren couldn’t do something like that. 

Hang on. The Silvergrove hadn’t been this quiet before. Gren stood at the edge of a plaza, pale cobblestones surrounding an elegant gazebo. Behind him, a forest stretched as far as he could see, interrupted only by a narrow path, a hiking trail perhaps. Where was everyone? There were no signs of life apart from the twinkling fungus and lichen growing on the trees. No chirping of birds or insects. No footsteps. No voices. A hollowness oppressed the air where sound should be. 

Sheathing his sword, Gren stepped forward, crossing the plaza and heading up a hill towards the rest of the town. It had been built in harmony with nature, houses constructed along trees and rivulets, flowers and vegetable plots growing side by side. He passed a bush of blue roses. He’d seen these before at the moon nexus. Lujanne said that their hue came from the high concentration of moon power in the soil. Gren touched one, skimming his fingertips over its petals. It rustled softly in his grasp, the flower soft and welcoming, but something was off. 

A dripping sound rose in his ears like a leaky faucet or melting ice. 

Hadn’t he been trapped in ice? 

He cried out in pain. A thorn had scratched his finger, swelling a sharp pinprick of blood on his skin. Grunting, he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief to clean himself. 

That’s when he noticed it. An ocean of red gushed from the grass beneath his feet, rising up his boots, soaking his ankles. 

“What the hell?” he yelled. 

It couldn’t be real. It must be a dream or an illusion. It had to be. Blood didn’t simply bubble from the ground like this. 

A shape peaked from the rose bush. Pale. Was that hair? Long, white hair spilling from a familiar face.

Runaan! Kneeling, Gren reached through the branches and pulled him out. 

He screamed. Runaan stared sightlessly up at him, his throat slashed open, blood coating his bare chest, which had a word carved into it.

_Murderer_

Whimpering, Gren scrambled back, hitting another body. Heart in his throat, Gren turned, screaming again. Amaya, also dead, her body half submerged in the earth, which was so thick with blood now that it resembled a swamp fetid with corpses. For there were more. 

Ethari. 

Callum. 

Ezran. 

Rayla. 

Corvus. 

His parents. 

His siblings. 

Every person he cared for and loved was dead at his feet, nothing more than bloated corpses. 

“It’s not real,” Gren yelled, burying his face in his knees, breath burning in his throat, too quick, too shallow. He couldn’t breathe. He had to get away. This was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. He had to wake up. Once he did, everything would be okay. Now wake up, Gren. _Wake up!_

His breath hissed through his nose. The ground grew dry beneath him, a warm breeze replacing the cold. His right hand felt strange, as if someone were massaging his fingers, but no one was touching him. 

He looked up. The blood and corpses were gone, as was the Silvergrove. Katolis City rose above him. He was sitting in the field where the washers liked to pin up the linens to dry in the breeze. He was home. He must have lied down and fallen asleep. It wasn’t like him, but here he was, so it must be so. It looked like a merry, spring day. Nice, sunny weather. Townsfolk going about their business. Gren wasn’t wearing his armor, so he must be off duty. It was so strange that he couldn’t remember for certain. 

Oh, well. It didn’t matter. Amaya should be close by. She would know. Or he could go up to the castle. That was it. He was visiting the castle and he’d gone into town, gotten sleepy, and decided to take a nap in the sun. No big deal. 

So why it did feel wrong? Dusting himself off, he stood up and went down the hill, stepping onto the nearest road. A seller passed him by, hawking their wares. Gren turned to look at them. 

He recoiled, breath seizing. The seller had no face. 

No. This couldn’t be happening. He’d woken up. He was sure he’d woken up. 

A cluster of people came by. They didn’t have faces, either. Not the kids playing in the street. Not the tailor and her customers. Not even the dog taking a nap in a   
corner. No one. Nor could they see him or hear him. He was a ghost. He didn’t exist. 

He fell to the ground, hands pressed to his mouth, panicked tears flowering down his cheeks.

````````````````````

Ibis and the sunfire healers didn’t know what to do. Since they had no knowledge of either moon or dark magic, Ethari hadn’t expected them to be able to do much, but it only made him more desperate. He’d carried Gren to a bed and laid him down gently, brushing his hair out of his eyes, which twitched as he dreamed. Most of the time, his face was slack in sleep, but every so often he’d frown or grimace as if he were in pain, which he probably was in the nightmare that Viren had trapped him in. It was a dagger to Ethari’s heart. Gren was one of the sweetest, kindest people Ethari had ever met. He didn’t deserve this. 

Runaan was in shambles. His attempts to not show it only made his parlous state even more apparent. Whenever he had the chance, he lingered by Gren’s side, clutching one of his hands in his, begging him to wake up. If Ethari hadn’t already known that Runaan loved him, this would have confirmed it. Ethari comforted him as much as he could, seeking comfort in return from Runaan’s touch, but it wasn’t enough. They hadn’t had a chance to recuperate from the fight before this happened, dragging them further down into the abyss. 

And that wasn’t all. Once Gren was being attended by the mages, Rayla divulged the entirety of her encounter with Viren. The mage hadn’t simply fallen off the cliff. Rayla had pushed him off, falling with him. If Callum hadn’t arrived in time and possessed such a talent for magic, she’d be dead. They almost lost her again. When she told them, Ethari hugged her for so long that she had to wiggle out of his grip, only to be gripped by Runaan in turn, who proved unable to keep tears from slipping from his eyes. 

In the evening, Ibis left in the company of Pyrrah to seek out a moon mage friend of his to ask for advice. Hopefully the mage would agree to come xirself, even if it was to help a human. News of Viren’s invasion and the battle that was only won with the mutual aid of both humans and elves would be slow to spread, but it was vital if human-elf cooperation was too continue. It was their only path forward to escape the cycle of bloodshed. 

As the night hours lengthened, Ethari, Runaan, and Amaya lingered by Gren’s bedside, Amaya holding one of his hands while Runaan held the other, Ethari sitting by his side. Kazi, a sunfire interpreter, sat with them, looking wretchedly awkward and upset by their situation. They were a good sort. At one point, Ethari was sure that Amaya insisted that they could leave to get some rest, but they refused, even when Callum and Ezran came to visit Gren. His condition was hard on them as well. Gren had been a fixture in their lives for four years, ever present at their aunt’s side. Rayla sat with them, too. She’d taken a liking to Gren as they waited out the battle together. It was hardly surprising. Who could meet Gren and not love him? 

Despite their exhaustion, they barely slept that night. Runaan and Amaya had to be dragged away. The instant they got into bed, Runaan and Ethari hugged each other close and didn’t let go until the sun rose. Ibis had returned by then, moon mage in tow. Xe compared notes with the other mages and examined Viren’s staff, which had been found late yesterday along with Viren’s body. Knowing that he couldn’t threaten them anymore was a small relief while Gren continued to suffer from his sorcery. 

“He used moonshadow blood,” the moon mage announced. “He infused it in his staff, mixing it with dark magic.”

Runaan gasped, shivering as he grasped Ethari’s hand in an iron grip. 

“Can you tell whose blood it is?” he whispered, seemingly unable to speak any louder, fright gripping him so strongly that it scared Ethari. He was about to ask why Runaan wanted to know that when it became obvious, the realization so horrible that it roiled his stomach, giving him the urge to vomit. 

“He took your blood?” he asked, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. 

Rayla gasped, covering her mouth. Runaan grit his teeth, hair covering his face as he dipped his head and nodded. 

“That’s why he wanted to keep me alive. A living resource.”

Everyone in the room looked ill. Ethari wrapped his arms around Runaan, hugging him fiercely. If only his hold was enough to keep him safe. Slowly, the moon mage stepped toward them. 

“There is a spell that should be able to tell me if it is your blood or not,” xe said. 

Runaan raised his head and nodded grimly.

“Do it. Please.”

After a moment, Anya raised xir hand and traced an unfamiliar rune in the air. 

The violet gemstone on the staff and Runaan’s skin glowed brilliant white, as did Gren on the bed. 

“That confirms it,” Anya said. “The same blood is present in both of you and the staff.” 

Runaan lowered his head in his hands with a groan of such utter grief and despair that it tore at Ethari’s heart. 

“My blood,” Runaan muttered, miserable. “He used my own blood to hurt Gren.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Ethari murmured in his ear. “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this.” 

“As horrible as it is,” Anya said, disgusted fury flashing in xir eyes as xe put down the staff, “this actually gives us a way to wake up Gren.” 

What? 

“It does?” Ezran asked. 

Anya nodded. 

“It’s not a safe method. Nor is it easy. Runaan would have to enter Gren’s dream and pull him out.”

Ethari’s gut clenched.

“Because the spell was crafted with his blood,” Anya continued, “he should be able to travel the dreamscape more easily than anyone else could. Perhaps have some measure of control. But he might still get lost in it.”

“You mean,” Rayla asked, “he might get stuck there as well as Gren? He could…”

Rayla didn’t have the strength to finish the sentence, nor could Ethari handle hearing it. 

“Die,” Anya finished for her. “Yes.”

“I’ll do it,” Runaan said. 

Ethari’s breath shuddered, an icy grip crawling up his back. If he lost Runaan too, he didn’t know what he’d do. The thought of it ripped his soul to pieces, stealing his breath and making him bite back a wail. But if there was no other way to save Gren, then Runaan had to go. They’d pledged themselves to each other twice over, by saving each other in Katolis and formalizing their courtship, which bound Ethari as well. Even if they didn’t love him, those promises would have been enough to bind Runaan to this task. Loyalty demanded it. Once again, Runaan must walk into danger and Ethari must step back and wait behind patiently. He grabbed Runaan’s hand and twined their fingers together, nodding his acceptance. Runaan’s eyes were bloodshot and desperate as they met his, guilt oozing off him, all of it unmerited. He looked at Rayla, who looked utterly miserable, but she put on a brave face.

“You can bring him back,” she said. “I know you can.”

All other eyes were on Runaan as well, but the ones Runaan met were Amaya’s. Her silent gaze didn’t make any demands of Runaan, but she did plead desperately for him to bring her best friend back to her. 

It was decided. No one tried to dissuade Runaan. They all knew better. By luck, that night was one shy of a full moon, so Runaan’s connection to their primal source would almost be at its peak. Yet that also lent more strength to the spell coursing through Gren. Runaan would have to prove the strongest of the two. Ethari had no doubt that he would. And they couldn’t discount Gren’s own determination, although Anya cautioned them of the mental state he might be in when Runaan found him. He had been caught in this nightmare for over a full day now. He might not recognize Runaan, or could believe him to be another illusion. And the dream would fight back, seeking to convince Gren that reality was false and that the false world was reality. 

Everyone’s nerves were frayed as they ascended to the platform at the peak of the Spire that night. The moon hung high in the sky, its light a blessing on their skin. Yet it was already engaged in its nightly sojourn across the heavens. Runaan had only a few hours to find Gren and awaken him. If he failed, it might be possible to try again the next night, but it could be too late for Gren by then. And that’s if Runaan returned himself at all. Ethari and Rayla would be his anchor in the waking plane, their shared moonshadow magic a lifeline should he stray too far into the dream. 

Ethari set Gren down on a blanket on the floor and kissed his forehead before joining Runaan, who lied down beside him, leaving only enough space for Ethari to sit and take his hand. Rayla sat at the opposite side and grabbed his other hand. Ethari hated how scared she looked. Runaan was the only one not showing any worry, at least not unless you knew him well enough to recognize his set jaw and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes for the trepidation that it was. He met Ethari’s and Rayla’s eyes in turn, squeezed their hands, then turned to Gren, his gaze growing soft and sorrowful, yet viciously determined.

“I’m ready,” he told Anya, who had been standing back to give them space to get settled. Amaya, Ezran, Callum, and some of the others were here, too, all standing a few yards away, anxiously hoping that the spell would work. 

It would work. It had to work. If Gren were here in their place, he wouldn’t admit for a second the possibility that it wouldn’t, so Ethari would have to be just as optimistic in his stead. 

Anya raised xir hand. A rune shone in the darkness.

“Mystica somnium”, she commanded. 

Runaan gasped, his breath ragged. Ethari’s heart shuddered and his hand clenched on Runaan’s, his own breath clutched painfully in his throat until Runaan’s breath evened out and his face grew slack in sleep. 

```````````````````

There was no escaping the castle. Gren had tried everywhere. The hidden passages under the grounds all led him in circles, their only escape to the open courtyard, where he was always assaulted by the Crownguard, blades slashing down without mercy. It hadn’t always been like this. He thought he remembered being able to walk across the grounds without a care in the world, but that must have been a dream. Unless this was the dream. But he’d been here for so long. Surely he would have woken up by now if this was the dream. 

He wandered the corridors of the castle, scuffing his feet on the carpet, which sometimes sloshed crimson with blood. Now it was dry, but for how long? It had ceased to be shocking long ago, yet it was not so with the bodies he came across. He’d found Runaan hanging from his chains in the dungeon, his wrists chafed raw from the manacles, but as always, Gren was too late. Runaan was dead, his head lolling forward, bleeding from a slash straight through his heart. 

There had been other deaths before, he was certain, and other deaths since. The worst was when he stumbled onto the corridor outside the king’s chambers, sword in hand, fighting against an onslaught of nearly invisible assailants who all looked like Runaan. They slashed and hacked and stabbed. More often than not, Runaan killed him, leaving him bleeding on the ground, but sometimes Gren’s blade struck flesh and Runaan fell, his form suddenly visible, staring up at him in shocked betrayal and Gren fell at his side, scooping him up in his arms, his tears mingling with Runaan’s blood as he begged for forgiveness. Runaan’s body grew cold, crumbling into ash, which swelled in the air in a purple-black fog transforming into four elven shapes glaring at him with vicious fury. Gren had never seen them before, but he knew who they were. Runaan’s assassins. His friends, dead at the Crownguards’ hands. 

Gren would hold up his hands, pleading, but it was no use. They stabbed him with furious glee, pain flaring in his body in a blinding scream until his breath gave out. 

Then he’d wake up. And it started all over again. 

```````````````````

Runaan found himself on the king’s balcony of Katolis Castle. The sun was a sliver in the horizon, casting pink and orange streaks across the cloudy sky. The moon was already visible, its fullness ready to lend the moonshadow assassins the power to sneak past the castle’s defenses. A shiver spread across Runaan’s back, soaking him in cold sweat. This was the night of the assassination. Gren hadn’t been here, yet this was the event that had made Gren despise him so much when they’d first been imprisoned together, that which they never spoke of for fear of reawakening resentful ghosts. Of course Viren’s nightmarescape had led him right to it. 

Runaan hurried inside. The corridor was empty, yet Harrow’s door hung open, a sliver of light streaked across the stone floor. Silently, Runaan approached it and peeked inside. It was different from the real room. Gren must have never been here before, so the spell had manufactured surroundings that looked sufficiently kingly. A writing desk. An opulent four post bed. Luxurious emerald green sheets. 

Wait. There was a lump under the sheets. Someone was lying in it. Someone with bright orange hair. 

Runaan pushed the door open. Immediately, Gren sat up on the bed and turned to him, yet the delight that Runaan expected to see wasn’t there. Instead, Gren studied him with suspicion and trepidation, his voice trembling uncertainly as he spoke.

“Runaan. You’re not armed.”

Armed? 

“Is this where I…” Gren trailed off. He scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head. “No. I think… Sorry, my memory is fuzzy. But I’m pretty sure that at some point I killed you. Or you killed me.”

Jaw clenched so hard that his teeth hurt, Runaan hurried to his side and crouched down before him.

“Neither,” he said, hands trembling as he reached for Gren’s. “I would never hurt you, and I trust you with my life. You’re stuck in a dream, Gren. None of that was real. This room isn’t real. Viren put a spell on you. I’ve come to get you out.”

“That’s a lie.”

Runaan shot to his feet. Two figures had appeared in the room. They hadn’t entered. They were simply there from one second to the next. Anya had warned him that the spell would fight back against him, so he’d braced himself for it, but it hadn’t been preparation enough to see Ethari’s face glaring at him, sword drawn. Amaya, or rather something that looked like her, stood beside him, signing something to Gren and beckoning him to come towards them. 

“There is an illusion at play here,” not-Ethari continued, pretending to be horrified by Runaan’s appearance. “But it’s him. Viren’s spell is him. Please come away from him.”

The two figures rushed toward him, blocking him from Gren, who frowned at them all in confusion. Runaan raised his hands. He had no weapons on him. Could he conjure some? If this fiction was created with his blood, he should have some control here. 

“They’re the illusions, Gren,” he said, trying to meet Gren’s eye. “They’re trying to keep you trapped here. Look around you. You’re not even supposed to be here.”

The instant the words were out of his mouth, the room rippled and transformed into their bedroom at the Storm Spire. Gren’s eyes widened in alarm, but almost immediately they dimmed, his eyelids heavy. He rubbed his face, shaking himself as if trying to remember something just out of grasp. 

Runaan’s heart sank. The spell was making him forget what had just happened. 

“I’m confused,” he said. “We’re at the spire, right? The battle was yesterday.”

“No,” Runaan said. 

“Yes,” that thing masquerading as Ethari said, taking hold of Gren’s hand as he cupped his cheek. Runaan’s fists clenched, straining with the urge to rip him off Gren, but the not-Amaya kept him at bay with her sword, one of which had yet to materialize in Runaan’s hand. He had to concentrate. Will it into being. If he even could. Unclenching his hands, he held them with his fingers lightly curled, picturing hilts hugging his palms. 

“That thing,” not-Ethari continued, “is a trick. Some residue of Viren’s magic.”

“It is Viren’s magic,” Runaan shouted. “But it’s not what he says. This isn’t real. You’re asleep. Viren attacked you.”

His hands tingled, the cool feel of a wooden grip materializing between his fingers into his twin swords. Yes! 

“How am I supposed to know which of you is telling the truth?” Gren asked, stepping back from not-Ethari. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would Viren come after me, anyway?”

“Because he’s a sadistic bastard who wants to hurt you.”

Runaan gasped at the new voice. A dream figure wearing his form stalked into the room, a pair of twin swords in his hands, which he launched at Runaan, who barely recovered from his horror in time to deflect his swing. Not-Amaya launched herself at him too.

“Think about it!” Runaan yelled at Gren as he strove to keep them at bay. He didn’t know what would happen if he died in the dream. Would Ethari and Rayla be able to pull him out or would he be trapped here forever? Either way, he’d be no good for Gren. “How did the battle end? What injuries did Ethari sustain? Do you know?”

Gren frowned at not-Ethari, examining him.

“I… I’m not sure. Hang on. How can I not be sure?”

“I got a bruised rib and cuts on my arms,” not-Ethari said, pulling back to reveal the convenient cuts. “Remember?”

Something in Gren’s gaze flickered, then faded. 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that’s right.”

His speech was muddled, submissive. He was barely able to think for himself. Growling, Runaan nearly stabbed his double in the gut, but he stepped back at the last second. 

“Viren froze you and Rayla in ice! He bewitched you with his staff. Purple and black vapor launched itself at you. You screamed. Remember the pain. The freezing cold. Please, Gren! Please remember!”

```````````````````

Runaan was pleading with him. But which Runaan? The real one or the fake one? What if they were both fake? Ethari, if he was Ethari, clung to him, gently touching his face, murmuring in a reassuring voice that the impostor lied, his hold as soft and caring as it had ever been. 

But cold crept up his body, stiffening his limbs in an invisible vice, reducing him to violent shivers. Ice. He had been trapped in ice. He remembered. He couldn’t move his hands. 

“Gren!” Ethari shouted with the vehemence of someone who had been trying for too long to catch his attention. He gripped Gren’s face, raising it to meet his eyes. “Stay with me. He’s lying. There was never any ice or any pain.”

But there had been pain. Gren’s being had almost exploded with the agony of it. A prolonged scream that ripped his throat and made him weep. 

Blood. So much blood. 

Yet the blood was wrong. It had come from the ground. Blood couldn’t do that. 

Amaya. She had been dead. As had Ethari. Runaan. Everyone. 

This wasn’t right. 

Warmth swelled in his left hand even as the chill rocked his body once more. 

“You’ll never get away with this,” Rayla had said. 

“Gren!” Ethari called his name. 

The Runaan who begged him to remember yelled in pain. He fell on one knee, weapons clattering on the floor, Amaya and the other Runaan looming above him.

Viren had sneered at him, his face a terrifying mask. A snake of dark magic had lashed out, striking Gren in the heart. 

“Gren!” Runaan shouted at him, seeking him out. He was bleeding, crimson blotting the stone floor. Blood in the grass. Blood in the king’s chamber, which he had never seen. He wasn’t there the night King Harrow was killed. He was at the Breach.

Amaya and Runaan raised their swords against the other, who struggled against a foot on his throat. 

The real Amaya and Runaan would never do something so low. 

Ripping himself from Ethari’s grasp, Gren ran towards them and pushed the fake Runaan off the real one. 

“I believe you,” he told him before wrapping him in his arms.

The world went dark.


	19. Chapter 19

Gren opened his eyes. Amaya hovered over him, wide eyed and anxious. So she was the one holding his hand. He was awake, right? This time it was real. It did feel different. And hungry. God, he was starving. He hadn’t felt hunger before, so that was definitely a good sign. 

“Gren!”

A dozen people suddenly crowded around him. He flinched back, blinking at them owlishly, inspecting them for blood. There was always blood. 

“Step back, will you please,” someone said. He didn’t recognize them. “You’re going to overwhelm him. 

No blood. Amaya was smiling at him, as was Ethari, who had a nasty looking cut on his cheek. See, if he were still dreaming, that wound would be gushing like crazy. And Rayla, Callum, Ezran, Corvus. So many people. And Runaan. He lied beside him, trying to push himself into a sitting position, staring at Gren with desperate worry. He looked exhausted. His arms trembled on the ground. He’d almost died in the dream. He had been so close. Would he have died in reality? 

“I am awake, right?” Gren asked, wincing at how croaky he sounded. 

Laughter rippled through the crowd. He smiled back, more relieved than he’d ever felt in his life, before dropping his head back on the blanket beneath him. A soft, dry, blood-free blanket. Being awake was so nice. 

A moonshadow elf he didn’t know pushed through the crowd and sat before him and Runaan.

“You’re no longer dreaming,” they said, touching his cheek and forehead and peering into his eyes. A healer by the looks of it. “That dark mage put you in an endless dream loop with a mix of moonshadow and dark magic. Runaan joined the dream so he could get you out.”

Gren turned to him, heart swelling with affection as he met his concerned eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said. “It wasn’t fun in there.”

“I would never leave you to suffer,” Runaan said with the passion of a solemn oath. He took Gren’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Gren was sure he was grinning like a child, he was so happy. 

“How do you feel?” the healer asked.

“Hungry. Thirsty. Like I could sleep for a month, not that I want to sleep ever again.”

“Well, you are going to need a lot of rest to recover. Dark magic is nasty business. But no nightmares this time. I’ll give you a tonic to help you have pleasant dreams.” They turned their attention to Runaan. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Runaan grunted, despite the bags under his eyes and the exhaustion sagging his body. 

Fondness bloomed in Gren’s chest. He almost laughed from the force of it. Even while chained in the dungeon and crying from being tortured, if you had asked Runaan how he was, he would have likely replied that he was fine. There were few as stubborn as his Runaan.

“Like hell you are,” the mage said. “You’re getting plenty of rest, too. You’re barely awake as it is.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Ethari said, shooting Runaan a chiding glance, making him cringe. His expression was much kinder when he smiled at Gren. “Both of you.”

“No need to worry about me,” Gren said. “I have no energy to go anywhere. Speaking of, can I get some food, please?”

```````````````````

A veritable feast was presented to him the moment Ethari laid him down on a warm, comfy bed. As he’d carried him down the spire steps, Gren snuggled up to him, resting his head on his shoulder, feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever and yet no time at all. From the moment he opened his eyes, the horrors of the enchanted nightmare had begun to fade into febrile afterimages, like lights stinging his eyes after looking at the sun. Yet a few instances continued to burn in his mind, remembrance of blood and death clinging to his shaking hands. Struggling to control his breathing to not worry Ethari, he pressed his hands to Ethari’s chest, searching for his heartbeat, soothing himself with its living rhythm thrumming under his fingers. 

Runaan sat on the bed beside him, eating as ravenously as him. Despite having been in the dream for only an hour, the dark magic had taken its toll. Gren alternated between grabbing food, signing to Amaya, and touching Runaan, his arm, his hand, his face, hoping that Runaan could perceive how brightly Gren’s love and gratitude for him burned. Runaan, in turn, scooted closer to him while they ate, until Amaya’s knowing smirk was so pronounced that Runaan blushed and Ethari chuckled, planting a loud kiss on Runaan’s cheek. 

Once they’d had their fill of food and drink, the mage, whose name was Anya, kicked everyone out, even Runaan, stating that Gren required uninterrupted sleep, which wasn’t guaranteed if someone shared his bed. Runaan grumbled, but allowed Ethari to drag him out. Mentally, Gren wasn’t terribly keen on the idea of surrendering himself to dreams quite yet, but his body begged to differ. His eyes had been closing for the last five minutes and the thought of doing anything made him want to groan and bury his head in the pillow. As promised, Anya gave him an infusion that smelled of flowers, which sent him straight to sleep. 

No dreams of death emerged. He didn’t even remember what he dreamed about when he woke up, for which he was profoundly happy. He felt relaxed instead of terrified, so it couldn’t have been anything unpleasant. According to Amaya, who seemed to have been standing guard at his door given how swiftly she came in, he had slept for the whole night and the better part of the day. The sun was already setting. 

_How do you feel?_ she asked, looking him over with a sharpness that warned him against fudging the truth even a little.

 _Tired,_ he said. _But I’m done sleeping for now. Much better than yesterday. No bad dreams._

Amaya smiled with relief.

_That’s great. I’m glad. You really gave us a scare there._

Gren’s smile was self-deprecating.

_I know. I’ll try not to get enchanted by evil mages in the future._

Amaya’s face grew stern.

_See that you don’t._

Gren nodded soberly.

_Yes, general._

Moments later, they burst out laughing, unable to keep up their ruse anymore. The door opened and Anya poked her head in.

“I see you’re awake,” xe said, smiling kindly at him. 

Despite xir youthful appearance, xe had an ageless quality about xir. Xe could easily be either fifty or two hundred. Gren bet it was closer to the latter. Ibis felt younger than xir and he was sixty-four. 

“You look much better today,” xe continued, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

He suspected that xe was feeling for more than his temperature. 

“I feel better, too,” Gren said and signed. “And I’m hungry again. I’d like to eat at a table this time, though.”

“If you’re up to it, sure. That’s a great sign.”

“How’s Runaan?”

“His wounds are still healing, but he’s almost fully recovered from the dark magic. Of course, he pretends like he’s completely fine. He’s a stubborn one.”

Gren smiled fondly, looking at Amaya.

“He reminds me of someone.”

Amaya narrowed her eyes at him.

 _I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,_ she said. 

Gren chuckled before translating for Anya. Pushing the covers back, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His legs felt a little gummy and achy from, what was it, two days of inaction? He stifled a yawn, fooling no one. 

“You’re not back to normal yet,” Amaya said with the sternness of one who was accustomed to pigheaded patients who rushed faster than they should. “Listen to your body. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

 _I’ll keep him in line,_ Amaya said.

“I have no doubt of that,” Anya said, exchanging a knowing look with her. 

It looked like they had connected while Gren had been asleep. How much had he missed? There was so much they must have been taking care of. The wounded. The dead. Figuring out a new alliance between humans and elves the like of which hadn’t been seen in over a millennium. 

It was the first thing he asked about once he sat down to eat, but Amaya didn’t have a chance to answer before Runaan and Ethari swopped down upon him, the latter smiling broadly in delight while Runaan inspected him like a worried parent making sure all their child’s limbs were still attached. He looked much more refreshed than Gren felt, but shadows lingered under his eyes. 

“They only just told us you’re awake,” Runaan said, frowning in displeasure at whatever he saw in Gren’s face. 

“Well, I only just woke up. I’m tired, but regular tired this time. I’m not going to disintegrate, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

 _He’s been like this the whole time,_ Amaya said. 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Runaan shot back. “You hovered by his doorway more than me.”

There was no hostility in either of them. Their exchange felt strangely enough like banter. Gren looked bemusedly at them. When did this happen? How did this happen? Runaan and Ethari each sat down on the bench beside him, Ethari wrapping an arm around his shoulder and kissing his forehead. Runaan continued to inspect him, but he pressed a seeking hand to Gren’s cheek as if checking that Gren was solid and real. 

“I’m okay,” Gren said, smiling at both of them and grasping Runaan’s hand. “Can I keep eating, please?”

Face flickering in alarm, Runaan pulled away and nudged Gren’s plate closer to him. It was completely unnecessary, but adorable.

“Of course,” he said, reaching for Gren’s glass, which stood half empty. “I’ll pour you more water.”

Before he could reach the jug, Amaya snatched both it and the glass, fixing Runaan with a stern “I’ve got it” expression. Gren burst out laughing. 

“You don’t need to fight over who gets to take care of me,” he said. “I’m fine. I can pour my own water, thank you very much.”

“You can’t say you’re not enjoying this, though,” Ethari said, rubbing the crook of Gren’s neck. 

“Maybe a little. Seriously, though, I’m okay. Tired, but okay. What I really want from you right to is to know what’s been going on while I was out.”

A lot, it turned out. The mages had succeeded in reversing the effects of Viren’s dark magic on the sunfire elves’ primal stone, and were on their way to ridding Lux Aurea of its stain. The human soldiers who were afflicted were also restored, although only a fraction of them had been captured. The battle had been even more brutal than Gren had feared. Many had been lost. Too many. Amaya, Runaan and Ethari had only just managed to escape the list of the dead. If it weren’t for Corvus and Cleric Opeli seeking Duren’s aid, they likely would have. The soldiers from Katolis, Evenere, Neolandia, and Del Bar that had survived were battered and confused. From the sounds of it, only Neolandia’s crown prince had consented to be transformed into a monster, and he was now dead. Letters had been sent via crow to all the human kingdoms and the elf countries informing them of the battle, Viren’s treachery, and the truce drawn up between Katolis, Duren, and Lux Aurea. Since she was the new queen, Janai had left yesterday with the mages to fix what Viren had done to her kingdom, but she and Amaya had left on very friendly terms. 

Who would have thought? Amaya had been fighting Sunfire elves since before Gren had met her, yet now she had become a diplomatic link between their two nations, and perhaps more besides. There was no mistaking that interested gleam in Amaya’s eye or the reciprocation he had seen in Janai’s when she thought no one was watching. Apparently, since the battle, Janai had ceased to hide it. 

In the midst of their discussion, Callum, Rayla, and Ezran appeared. They all hugged him, even Rayla, although she required some coaxing after hanging back, wondering if it was okay. 

“We want to do a big summit meeting,” Ezran said after everyone got settled at the table. “Get everyone together. If everyone is willing to, that is. Queen Aanya and Janai are in.”

“We can get the moonshadow council to come, can’t we?” Rayla asked Runaan and Ethari, who looked uncertain. 

“Maybe,” Runaan said. 

“If they don’t agree at first,” Ethari said, “we’ll badger them until they do. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t try for peace now after everything that’s happened.”

“We were wondering,” Ezran said, looking at Gren, “since you three are together, maybe you could act as an ambassador for the human kingdoms. Well, Katolis and Duren, anyway.”

Gren’s eyes widened.

“Ambassador? Officially?”

 _You’ve always been more of a diplomat than a soldier,_ Amaya said. _It would be a good fit for you._

Yet there was sorrow in her gaze. If Gren left the army, he’d leave her side. But hadn’t that always been probable since the moment he’d accepted Runaan’s and Ethari’s courtship? They’d never spoken of what came after the battle. What had been the point when none of them knew if they’d live past sunrise? Gren looked at them. They weren’t surprised by the proposal. They must have all discussed it already, all the possibilities. It made sense to get a jump start while Gren slept. 

“What do you want to do?” Ethari asked.

Gren struggled to parse out all the emotions in his voice and on his and Runaan’s faces. 

Hope. Nervousness. Dread. A silent promise that they would abide by Gren’s wishes even if it devastated them. 

Love. 

Gren pictured it. Severing their courtship. Returning to Katolis without them. Pretending that it didn’t rip his heart in two. 

He couldn’t do it. His breath seized in his chest and his heart ached as if someone were squeezing it in an iron fist. 

“I want to stay with you,” he said, gripping Runaan and Ethari’s hands under the table. 

Ethari exhaled in relief, a smile bursting on his face, while Runaan clung to his hand so tightly that Gren thought he never planned to let go, his face raw and open with affection and gratitude. Gren shot an apologetic look at Amaya, his heart breaking at having to leave her, but she smiled.

 _It’s okay,_ she said. _You deserve to be happy. And it’s not like we can’t travel to see each other. Especially now that we both have business in Xadia._

Gren barely managed to translate as his throat thickened with emotion. 

“I’m also moving away,” Rayla said, fingers fidgeting on the table before she took Callum’s hand. “I’m going to Katolis with Callum and Ez. The elf ambassador on that side of the border, I guess. We’re going to see how it goes.”

“Yeah,” Callum said, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous smile. “We want to give it a shot. And dating between the Silvergrove and Katolis would be really long distance, so… Well, it’s the same thing as you guys.”

Gren wasn’t terribly surprised, not with the way that the three kids acted around each other. Runaan and Ethari looked sad to let her go, but also proud. God, what would Gren’s own family have to say about this? He’d tried his damnest not to think about it, but he had no choice now. How was that letter even going to go?

_Mom. Dad. I’m in love with elves. Two of them, not all of them. They’re great! One of them killed King Harrow, but it’s water under the bridge now._

Yeah, that was going to go great.

Oh gods, he was moving in with Ethari and Runaan. This was happening. He was staying in Xadia and living in an elf town with glowing mushrooms and giant cats that you could ride and cuddling with the most gorgeous, loving, kindest men he’d ever met. He’d miss Amaya so much that it hurt, but they’d see each other again soon. He’d make sure of it. Right now, all he was determined to feel was the bright smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end! I can't believe it. Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments. It means the world to me. It really does.


End file.
